Lost World
by SFEmber
Summary: Caught within a foul ritual Leondris, a Striking Scorpion of Craftworld Il-Kaithe, awakes upon an unknown world. He should not be here, by any account save for that of a mad god, and his mere presence could lead them all to damnation. Yet what is done cannot be undone and he has a duty to fulfill - if not salvation than a blood price in revenge.
1. Prologue

' _Two more on your left, Leondris,_ ' the message floated to him from Satris above, more of a psychic impression that his mind gave meaning than actual words, a completely silent exchange to the perceptions of the mon-keigh. The steady thuds of the human's crude movement echoed to him quickly, enhanced by the heavy boots they wore clanking upon the thin steel walkway above him, and they came into view shortly after. They wore the standard uniforms of the guards that constantly patrolled this city and carried lasguns held in the manner bored guards do; virtually clones of the countless other guards they had passed in their advance through the narrow streets and pipe-ways. The men passed over where Leondris squatted in the shadows beneath the walkway completely unaware an Eldar Striking Scorpion was mere inches beneath their feet or that the rest of his shrine, that of the Hissing Claw, lay hidden around them in every direction.

' _We need to move. We are running out of time._ ' The Exarch, Larencas, signaled in the same fashion, with the message meant for everyone rather than aimed at a specific person, as Satris had. They had made planetfall undetected nearly thirteen hours before and began advancing toward their target immediately, their target, the top of one of the many tower-mansions belonging to the human lords here. To hide their presence from the mon-keigh however, they made their advance slowly for the seers were clear that the humans must never know of their actions this day and that only those within the target may fall by our blades. Leondris kept himself low to the ground as he moved out from his position beneath the walkway to join the rest of his Shrine.

"One minute to the patrol lapse," Veltaren whispered when they all came within distance to hear him, his voice made less noise than a mouse so this was quite close, "then we have ten minutes to climb thirteen stories. Aim for the second window from the left. Vision deviation is minimal."

No one questioned his directions. The Exarch had assigned him the task of figuring out their best time to ascend and they trusted his judgement. There was no noise, no movement, as they waited for the time Veltaren designated and when it came, on the mark of the second, all ten of them exploded upward in a flurry of practiced mirrored motion. In the darkening night they were but deep green shadows dancing along a wall as they grasped the smallest of ledges, pushed upward with surprising strength from their lithe forms, crossed over, leaped, and crossed again. They used each other for leverage and boosts as much as the building and as the allotted time reached its end and a searchlight began its cross against the wall, the second window from the left deftly clicked shut. Only faint whispers upon the wind marked their passage. The psychic imprint of 'all clear' issued forth from Orothorn.

They found themselves in a dark room containing an assortment of tables, chairs, and sofas. It seemed a lobby of sorts or perhaps a lounge but the only thing that mattered now was that no one was within and someone forgot to lock the window. The Exarch pressed against their minds causing them all to turn their heads to look at him although physical sight was not needed for the message he gave. We were within the target area now, not only were we permitted to use lethal force but it was expected against everyone, there would be no survivors above the thirteenth floor. A soft hiss filled the air of the room as their chainswords flexed their teeth in anticipation, his war-mask was firm upon his mind, and the sound put a faint smile upon Leondris' face. They needed no other command to begin their work and they each slipped from the room splitting the full squad into pairs that traveled loosely close to each other. It was Satris that paired with him.

The two Eldar warriors moved quickly down one of the hallways not already taken by the rest of their Shrine and arrived at a set of wooden double doors. There is no easy way to open doors unnoticed, you never knew if someone could simply be looking that direction within, too many random factors but they heard no conversation or movement from the other side. They prioritized speed over stealth twisting the handles and stepping inside in one fluid motion, shuriken pistols raised and scanning the room for potential threats. What awaited them on the other side was a scene of carnage and horror. The room itself was a large dining hall, a long series of connected tables dominated the center with small alcoves dotting its edges filled with their own arrangements; three ornate chandeliers hung from the high ceiling which still emitted light although much of it was blocked by the blood that caked their surface. Countless corpses littered the room, some still in their chairs but most scattered across the floor, but it was the manner in which these humans died that caught the Striking Scorpion's attention. In the depths of their war-masks the gore barely even registered as abhorrent yet some of these humans were bloated to a grotesque degree, their abdomens split open and intestine spilling out showing absurd amounts of food stuffed within, seeming to imply they died from their stomachs rupturing from the inside out as if they had stuffed themselves so full they simply popped. It seemed an unreasonable thing to think that one could eat so much that your stomach would explode in such a manner but both of them had seen things far stranger.

Moving further into the room they proceeded with the utmost caution, weapons held at the ready and senses straining for any sign of danger. Not all of the corpses had died from gorging themselves with food, most of those found in the alcoves had died differently, the nudity of their corpses along with the manner of their wounds betrayed the reason well enough. It would seem while those near the center were overcame with desire to eat, those at the edges became overwhelm with a desire for each other. Deep claw-like gashes mangled their forms and most still held the flesh of their... partners, in their mouths from where they had bit chucks from one another in a vain effort to sate their bloody lust. Some bodies were but mounds of ruined flesh and one could only imagine how exactly so much blood covered the walls or how it arrived upon the chandeliers. Bending knee Leondris examined one of the more intact corpses closer, flipping it over he saw what he sought clearly enough, the foul symbol of She Who Thirsts was carved into the back of the woman's neck and as if sensing that someone now gazed upon it the mark emitted a soft pinkish glow. He felt his spirit stone press coldly against his chest as he let the corpse rest in its original position and stood again. Satris had found similar evidence on the one he had inspected yet as they looked at each other a sharp alert rang out from Satris, a psychic warning sent faster than any verbal content could ever be.

It was enhanced instinct that moved him, muscle memory built from a thousand hours of training and war, placing his chest flat upon the bloodstained table while in the same movement kicking backwards with his right leg aimed just above where the knee cap should be on the average human. The sick popping noise of broken bone was his reward for the action and using the table as an anchor he twisted around allowing himself only a fraction of a second to analyze his assailant. It was one of the men from the nearby alcove who stared at him with an outstretched hand even as the force of the Eldar's kick snapped his leg in two. By all rights the man should be dead, a large chunk of flesh was missing from his neck, blood painted the majority of his nude body, and it was riddled with deep gashes, yet he was not. His face was one of pained yearning, his fingers ground to the bone like sick claws reaching for him, but in his eyes Leondris saw a hint of sorrow. The chainsword flicked forth and separated the man's head from his body in a clean cut.

Leondris turned back to Satris and thanked him as the man's body fell to the ground again. The Scorpion's armor had been speckled with blood but such things did not even register within his mind.

"We cannot chance another like him," Leondris stated plainly knowing full well Satris already knew this, "take the heart and head then we will continue."

And so they did. The two Eldar pierced each heart and separated each head; they found three others who still moved as the man who attempted to attack Leondris had. Then, as silently as they had come, they moved on.

The Shrine moved up through the tower in their pairs, finding similar scenes to the one found within the dining hall all the way. It was a grim work putting down the remnants of this cult's activities but one that must be done and as such, they took joy in doing. The seers had foreseen the touch of the Ruinous Powers upon this world, had foreseen what would come if the ritual being performed at the top of this tower reached its completion, and as such they had dispatched the Shrine of the Hissing Claw to stop it. For it was the purpose of Craftworld Il-Kaithe to battle against the forces of Chaos whenever possible. It was this purpose that gave the Craftworld direction, what made the majority of its population walk the Path of the Warrior, yet also what made its population disturbingly small. Leondris considered it strange that he thought of his home even while he plunged his hissing blade into the heart of a mon-keigh. A psychic pressure hit them then, forcing a chill up their spines and bile to fill their throats, shortly after it started their Exarch called for them to gather on his position.

Most of his Shrine was covered in human blood when they met at the base of a stairwell. A fresh corpse cooled on the floor, its chest ruined by the Exarch's Scorpion Claw, yet unlike all those they had encountered thus far this one wore flak armor and a lasgun was scattered on the other side of the corridor. It seems that they had finally found the ones behind all of this. With the Shrine gathered again their psychic forms melded together guided by the intense battle focus of the Exarch - there was no need to relay instructions. Silent as phantoms they snaked up the staircase with the burning rage of Khaine filling their bodies in anticipation for the killing to be done just ahead. The staircase led into a small room that led out onto the open roof of the tower. This lord's tower-mansion was far from the largest even within this city yet it still towered above the structures in which the majority of the populous reside and gave a near clear view of the night sky. Luckily for them the door leading out to the roof was already open and none of the cultists were looking their way, although they might not see the Shrine regardless even if they were, seemingly too focused upon the events taking place at the roofs center. From where they crouched Leondris could hear the arcane chanting from one of the cultists, presumably their leader, although the psychic pressure that the ritual would no-doubt be emitting was pushed off by the presence of their Exarch.

They could feel the Exarch giving them commands: Baranseth, Orothorn, and Faenor would handle the left side, Lonaer, Calroth, and Fanrian would take the right, with Isenmore, Asutar, and Galandair sweeping through the middle to dispatch any near the back of the roof. Satris and Leondris would be with the Exarch focusing on clearing a path to, and killing, the leader of this foul ritual. The Shrine looked at each other, identical in their armor and helms, yet in their psychic link they were all so very individual, so very close, and they each knew that there was a real chance one of them would not walk away from the next minute. They nodded in unison and began their grim work.

Rushing from the room the cultists were still unaware of the Eldar presence until the first of them screamed as a chainsword tore up under his back plate to eat into his heart. The roof exploded into a flurry of motion and noise as the humans reacted and the Eldar pushed forward. There were far more cultists here than Leondris had first expected there to be, nearly thirty in total as far as he could count with a simple glance, yet already twelve were dead from their surprise strikes. Isenmore, Asutar, and Galandair were making good progress with clearing the middle of the roof and a path to the cultist leader was already showing. The leader himself was not what Leondris was expecting either, he had seen leaders of Slaaneshi cults before and had expected either a human no different from another save for an aura of charisma or a mutated pink thing of grotesque allure, yet the one leading the ritual wore purple robes, wielded a long golden staff in one hand with a ruby dagger in the other, and burned with the iconography of the Changer of Ways. Why did this Slaanesh cult have a sorcerer of Tzeentch?

The Exarch pushed forward through the gap unto the roofs center with Leondris and Satris following close behind. At the roofs dead center was a rectangular stone slab laid at waist height; it, and in swirling circles around it, eldritch runes burned with a purple glow as the sorcerer chanted his incantations. Even without feeling the psychic pressure of the ritual it seemed that it was nearing its completion. Leondris leapt over a small bank of flowers that had wilted in the presence of such warp energies and squared off with one of the cultists roughly six feet from him. He was a normal looking man if you ignored iconography branded onto his face.

The cultist's lasgun was already raised and at this range the man took no time to aim simply holding the trigger and allowing the gun to spit it's fury in full auto. Leondris could have dodged to the side, could have danced to avoid the beams, but time was of the essence so instead he trusted in his armor and rushed forward with shuriken pistol raised to spit its own retort. He was struck four times by the las-shot, once in the right thigh with the three others riddling the right side of his abdomen, yet his heavy wraithbone plates held strong only blackened from the hits. The force of the shots did stagger him however slowing his advance yet, in the space of his stumble, blue crystal shuriken spun out from his pistol aimed at the man's less armored legs. They cut gashes along his thighs and shins in eighteen places making the man yelp in pain, his cringe jerking the lasgun from his target and making the rest of Leondris' approach easy. As the Scorpion drew close the man attempted to shove aside his pain and level the lasgun again but Leondris bashed it from his grasp with his left pistol-carrying hand and in the same moment stabbed forward with his right to put his chainsword to work.

It hissed its hunger until it dug into the man just above the waistline. The cultist screamed as it tore through him, his intestine spilling out as the chainsword quickly worked its way up and under his flak vest, the spinning fang-blades opening it from the inside out. Leondris pushed through up into his windpipe continuing into the man's skull before erupting from the top of his scalp in a spiraling shower of gore; the Striking Scorpion stepping past and continuing his advance even as the ruined mess of a corpse still worked it's way to the ground. Firing the remainder of the shuriken pistol clip to ruin the shoulder and head of another man attempting to fire upon Satris he assessed the situation: his Shrine was making good progress into the cultists, less than a minute had passed since they had arrived yet already nearly two thirds of the humans were dead yet those alive had opened fire in earnest forcing them to dance and dodge between the small amounts of cover available on the roof. The Exarch had focused his efforts upon the sorcerer but before he could reach him was tackled by a hulking mutant of a man brimming not only with mutation but also crude cybernetic enhancement, his Scorpion Claw was making good work on it's muscular form but it refused to die easily and it's pure strength in the tight area they were fighting had forced the Exarch on the defensive. The eldritch runes that marked the ground glowed even brighter with malign light and it was with dread that Leondris realized the death here was only feeding the warp energies and hastening the rituals completion. The sorcerer had to be stopped now!

Running Leondris slipped under the guard of a cultist as it attempted to intercept him with a bayonet thrust. Using him as an anchor the Scorpion leaped onto his back, twisted, then pushed off, rocketing him into the air above the stone slab and sending the cultist he had leapt from fumbling to the ground. He crouched mid-air and brought his chainsword down hard in a vertical cut at the sorcerer but the purple robed man dodged with astonishing speed. Using arcane enhanced speed and strength the Chaos sorcerer launched into a blurred exchange of parries and strikes with the Eldar warrior who quickly pressed the advantage until the human pulsed with darklight. Leondris' mind screamed and his body shot straight as every muscle tensed in a moment of pure agony as he suffered under the effects of the Chaos puppet's spell.

The sorcerer laughed, his voice gravel being ground to dust, and grabbed the Eldar by the neck hoisting him into the air with surprising ease. He continued his incantation as he slammed Leondris upon the stone slab forcing the air from the Eldar's lungs even as his body continued to tense and convulse under the Warp's foul touch. In his mind Leondris felt the Exarch cry out to him as he finished the hulking mutant by crushing the thing's skull with a blow from his Claw and a sharp bloody rage coursed through Leondris' being giving him only the briefest moment of control once again - but a moment was all he needed. He issued the psychic command to his gear, the quickest of quick actions, and even as his body and mind returned to agonizing convulsion the bandiblasters upon his helm spit forth lightning upon the sorcerer.

The sorcerer cried out in pain as the lightning burned him biting off the last words of the incantation as his own body locked up in pain. Rage boiled in his eyes and he brought the down the ruby dagger plunging it through the wraithbone plated armor and into the Eldar's flesh just barely an inch beneath his rib cage on the right side. Leondris would have cried out if he had not already been in the throws of agony yet when the dagger tasted blood the runes surrounding them burst in a flash of continual light.

"What?" the sorcerer said looking at his hand around the dagger planted into Leondris' flesh as if it was the hand of another, "no! I did not specify the-!"

The statement was cut short as a pillar of blinding purple light erupted upward from the stone slab engulfing both of them. The sorcerer screamed, his voice growing ghastly, hollow, and increasingly distant as if his soul was being torn from his body. Leondris could not scream, could not move, could only flounder uselessly in agony and terror as his world exploded into a storm of mind-tearing colors. His last moments filled with the screaming maws of thirsting daemons and what he only distantly recognized as the burning touch of Kaela Mensha Khaine before being whisked away into sweet darkness by the echoing laughter of a mad god.


	2. Unknown Beginnings

It started slowly, akin to the rhythm in which a blacksmith hammers upon molten metal, yet with each blow Leondris' heartbeat rang through his mind and agony shot like lightning through his being. Then, suddenly, breaking the rhythm just as he was starting to understand it, consciousness smashed into him as if shot from a cannon. He wanted to scream as each of his senses flooded his mind and panic overcame his reason yet all he could manage was to choke and gag as his body spammed uncontrollably upon hard ground. His helmet was stifling to the extreme, the thought that he needed to get it off if he had any chance of survival ran through him like wildfire, and he begged the wraithbone locks to unlatch as he scratched and pulled upon the green helm. It went tumbling through the air as he desperately clawed it from his face not a moment before emptying the contents of his stomach, a white frothy paste that burned his throat and mouth as it came up, upon grey unfamiliar ground.

At first he attempted to crawl away from it, as if the helmet was the cause of all his pain, sobbing as he collapsed barely a foot from where he began. He curled up like a child in the womb as breath came to him in short labored gasps and his body ached as if he had fought a battle a thousand hours long. Leondris lay like this, pathetic, for a time truly unknown to him yet it felt like millennia before enough reason returned to him to begin thinking even in an echo of coherency. Drawing upon his time walking the Path of the Dreamer he delved into himself, registering each of the different pain signals throttling his mind and separating them into chunks that he fed into a mental fire to fuel his focus. It took longer than he expected it to but with the fire Leondris regained control of himself and began actually assessing the situation he found himself in.

He was bleeding from his nose, no, not just his nose, but from his mouth and eyes as well. The wound in his abdomen had seemingly scabbed over while he was unconscious but the frantic movement from when he had awoke tore it open again. Leondris also noticed, more out of discomfort than embarrassment, that his bowels had emptied themselves as well, although if this was before or after he had awoken he didn't know. A soiled suit was not at priority in his mind however, as it's quite scary to wake up bleeding at any time and to wake up bleeding from every orifice on your face was... terrifying. Panic swelled up suddenly and threatened to overwhelm him yet again but this time he had the fire and just as before he fed the panic into it.

Bringing a shaky hand to his eyes he pushed on the corners then wiped down to clear the small red rivers that painted the majority of his face, succeeding more at just smearing it than actually cleaning anything, but the action seemed to stop the flow. Holding a bloody hand in front of his face as a focus point to clear his blurring vision he found himself staring into the bleak scenery of a forest that would best be described as... dead. While the many trees held leaves they were a darker green than Leondris felt they should be, with the bark of the trees a paler white than they should be as well; yet it was the grey dry soil and the gloom that rested about everything that truly gave an impression of death. If he was being honest though, a newborn child would be able to connect this place to death considering the putrid stink that hung muggy in the air... or that could just be his suit.

Pushing himself to sit up Leondris was struck by a sudden sense of vertigo that made his head swim before he directed his focus outward to regain his balance. He felt almost empty with so much of his mind locked off, fed into the fire, but he knew he needed to be hollow until he could properly recover. His full mind was still too unstable. The Eldar stood and walked the few paces to reach where his helm had fallen. Bending knee he reached out to pick up his missing piece of armor and almost missed it, the crunch of feet against this dead ground, sounding distinct in the dull unnatural silence of this place but faint even to his keen hearing. Wasting no time he threw his vision around the clearing he had awoken in, searching for his weapons and finding his shuriken pistol laying on the ground on the far side with his chainsword hanging in a bramble bush closer. They must have been tossed by... whatever it was that put him here, but he had no time to reach them, the source of the footsteps was drawing close. Diving forward the Striking Scorpion lay flat behind the risen root of the closest tree assuming a form of perfect stillness and willing the crystalline camouflage coating the wraithbone plates of his armor to adjust themselves to the surrounding light spectrum. Without his helm though he would have to rely upon the root to cover his face.

It wasn't long before the source of the noise arrived although from where Leondris lay he could only see a few inches above the ground where the root provided a gap. What entered the clearing was not a creature Leondris was familiar with, although he could only see its feet, which consisted of only two thick toes with dark green skin. It did however stand on two legs and as he watched the Eldar caught the faint glint of what he believes to be a spearhead. Some sort of Ork variant that has only been able to achieve primitive level technology? The creature walked, it's guard up, scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger, to the pool of blood left where Leondris had lain only moments before. It stooped low allowing Leondris a look at long white tusks and a sharp chin as it sniffed the fresh stain. Even in his hollow state the Eldar cursed at the realization this creature would no doubt be able to find him using smell alone between his still bleeding abdomen and the excrement smeared down his left leg. Confirming his suspicions the creature rose and looked directly at where the Eldar warrior lay prone.

No use now. He rose slowly from his position, willing his camouflage off, hoping to perhaps intimidate the creature as he did not like the idea of having to fight it in his current state and with no weapons. Getting a good look at the thing now though, Leondris knew there was little chance of it being cowardly. It was a tall creature, probably reaching close to seven feet if it stood up straight, but it remained in a hunched crouching stance with its spear held before it. It's body was one of tight corded muscle with an ugly snarling face showing sharp teeth with two long tusks protruding from its mouth and sporting a tall red mohawk that ran down its back. It wore a simple loincloth and blue warpaint was scrawled across the dark green of its skin in simple patterns. Leondris didn't spend long contemplating if he could reason with it.

The creature did seem to hesitate at the sight of him, the way he de-cloaked, the strangeness of his armor, but the thing seemed to decide that it could better ponder what the Eldar warrior actually was after Leondris was a corpse cooling on the ground. The spear thrust that followed was quick but the Striking Scorpion dodged it expertly, at least it looked that way, as once again the he was struck by a sudden sense of vertigo that blurred his vision and made two of everything for a frighteningly shaky moment. The beast seemed to sense this and pressed the advantage getting dangerously close even as Leondris bobbed and weaved around it's attacks. In his current state however his body didn't move as quickly as he wanted it to and a few of the creatures attacks had drug the spearhead uselessly against the wraithbone plates of his armor. Ducking under a spear swipe Leondris contemplated how to strike against the creature, perhaps punching where kidney and pressure point should be, but the thought came too late.

The creature had risen up, even taller than Leondris had guessed at full height, and in that last swipe had re-positioned both of his three-fingered hands sliding them closer on the wooden shaft. In a small but powerful leap the creature brought the spear horizontal over Leondris then down and up hefting the Striking Scorpion off his feet to lock him in a crushing bear hug. Pulling hard on the strong wood of the spear the green skinned thing was attempting to crush him against its chest, although, more accurately, it was trying to snap his spine after seeing its spear couldn't pierce his armor. Although the wraithbone was holding, the building pressure from the creatures increasing strain was worrying. He did not doubt that the beast could snap him if he let it build to full pull.

A man in panic would perhaps beat his fists uselessly against the slab-muscle chest of the creature or even try punching its face if he wanted to risk goring himself on the long tusks. In his hollow state though Leondris had a different solution in mind: his left hand punched at it's neck, an attack wholly ignored by the beast, but that was only a distraction as his right hand shot up like a snake around it's tusk to jab a thumb into it's eye. The green thing might have been able to ignore punches or even cuts and stabs but there are only a few creatures that don't panic when a thumb enters their eye. This was not one of such creatures. It roared as the thumb dug in, twisting about in rage and pain, although, to the creature's credit, it did not let go... which was frustrating.

The beast's crushing hug slacked for a moment, a sweet moment of relief Leondris had been hoping to exploit, but before he could react the thing retaliated slamming the spear shaft back into him with a redoubled effort fueled by the pain and discomfort of an eye currently being gouged. The force of it squeezed the air from the Eldar's lungs and he had distinct difficulty filling them again. With his left hand Leondris grabs the creature's left tusk and pulls to the side while at the same time using his right hand, still dug into the thing's eye, to push up. The beast was forced to pivot from side to side in order to keep its balance, roaring as its face was steered about by the strange warrior. Whether from the movement or the discomfort the force of the hug lessened again and this time Leondris was ready.

Pulling down he used the creature's own head as an anchor to pull his legs up under him, an act that strained nearly every muscle in the Eldar's body and caused a sting of pain from his wound that threatened to overwhelm even the fire. The green beast's tusks scraping against his chest plate in a sound reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. Curled up like a ball with his feet placed flat against the thing's chest the Striking Scorpion pushed off; finally freeing himself from it's grasp and sending him hurtling through the air to tumble inelegantly into a large bramble bush. The black thorns of the bush dug into the exposed flesh of his face but he had aimed for the bush and a cruel smile twisted his features as his fingers wrapped around the familiar hilt of his chainsword. Thinking this battle over the Eldar spun back to his feet, tumbling out of the bush with the fang blades of his weapon hissing their anger, only to find his smile short lived.

Standing alongside the creature he had been locked with, who now rubbed at it's right eye, were three more of the beasts. Nearly identical save for variations in the tusks and tattoo patterns that painted their bodies they looked at him with a mix of curiosity and deadly outrage. One of them spoke in a crude language Leondris did not recognize but the statement did not sound kindly. Straightening himself and assuming a waiting guard the Eldar warrior spoke back knowing the beast couldn't understand him either, "you to."

This seemed to be the only provocation they needed as the four of them charged roaring their collective fury. Leondris did not wait for them to reach him instead running forward keeping himself low and launching into a practiced flurry of cutting patterns and parries as he attempted to get in among them. The creatures crowded themselves trying to get at him, limiting their movement and attack range as each of them wanted the kill for themselves, allowing the strange green-armored warrior to dance about them with ease as they fussed about not hitting each other. Now relying upon the fact that these creature's weapons, three with spears and the fourth wielding a short ax in each hand, could not actually pierce the plating of his armor without large direct force Leondris cut at them scoring gashes along legs, arms, and chests in equal. The thick flesh of the beasts was taking longer for his blade to chew through than he first thought it would but this could also be due to his waning strength.

They circled him more cautiously now, weapons held out, yet the various wounds he had inflicted didn't seem to actually bother them in any visible way. In fact, already blood had stopped flowing from the cuts, even the deeper ones. This fight was drawing out for too long; from the beginning Leondris was in no condition for any sort of conflict and he could feel the last remnants of his strength sapping from him with each movement. He needed to either finish them soon or find a way out and neither looked like an easy option. Leondris settled upon a course of action just as the green creatures pushed his guard forcing the Eldar to dive between two of them feeling the distinct whip of air as a spear passed only an inch from his exposed head.

He forsook the opportunity for a counterattack instead dashing across the clearing and tumbling to grasp the scattered shuriken pistol in his off-hand. The creatures had followed after his movements quickly but even so the Eldar's superior speed had put a solid five feet between Leondris and the closest beast as he leveled the ranged weapon at it's snarling head. Squeezing the trigger he awaited the familiar snipping noise of the small blue crystalline razorblades leaving the wraithbone barrel, only, it never came. He had only a second of alarm to curse himself for forgetting that he had not reloaded since he had spent the well during the roof engagement before the beast was upon him again.

The creature leaped at him with a kick towards his pistol-wielding hand, perhaps recognizing the smooth white item as a gun, an attack the Eldar warrior had not expected and his reflexive movement actually worsened the blow. He twisted his hand, a move that would have put the shuriken that should have poured from the small nuzzle cutting into the attacking limb but without any it just made his fingers exposed. The flat foot slammed into his hand catching his pinky and ring finger and bending them back fully in a sick pop, breaking them at the joint, and the creature followed through into a spear thrust at Leondris' head. Caught in the middle of the sudden pain from his broken fingers threatening to overwhelm his focus the Striking Scorpion did not respond fully in time instead only jerking slightly to the side allowing the spearhead to dig into the flesh of his face just above his right eyebrow cutting up onto his forehead as he leaned back from the force of the blow allowing it to take him into a flip away from the attacker.

When he landed near prone, his legs bent making him look like even more of an animal than his tusked counterparts, his vision blurred, this time taking far longer to clear than before. His enemies were starting to approach him again, slowly and seemingly congratulating the one that had scored blood in their guttural tongue. Was this to be his end? Would he survive whatever strange occurrence that placed him in this unknown place only to die to these creatures? What of his spirit stone? No doubt his body will fill their cook fires but what of his spirit stone, would his kin ever find and recover it so that he may join the Infinity Circuit?

So turned inward in fear and doubt was he that once again he almost missed it. An arrow shot out from the unknown taking the one who had broken Leondris' fingers in the neck. It gargled it's pain and surprise just as it's companions reacted, squatting low and whipping their sight quickly around the edges of the clearing searching the many shadows for the source of the attack. They would regret taking their attention away from the alien warrior. Leondris' shot forward, his vision blurred yet he paid it no mind as he gave himself to the battle-fury of Khaine that remained ever lurking in his Aspect Warriors - truly a last ditch effort for survival. The chainsword hissed its hunger and Leondris first brought it down in a hard vertical slash upon the outstretched shaft of a spear chewing through the tough wood easily enough and destroying the weapon before launching into a flurry of deep cutting thrusts.

In a clearer state of mind Leondris would have worried for the potential attack coming from his sides and back but now... he didn't have enough thinking capacity to worry about anything. Once again the creature gave credit to it's race with how well it fended off the alien warrior equipped only with a broken spear but ultimately Leondris pounced and plunged his hissing blade into the beast's heart. In his fury, guided by the bloody handed god, he let the chainsword tear itself violently out of the now deceased creature's chest showering his green armor in fresh blood to mix with the dried blood leftover from the human cultists and the Eldar's own. At this point it would be hard for an onlooker to determine which color, green or red, was actually the primary.

Standing, Leondris looked for his next target and was surprised to find only one of the creatures left to oppose him. The one that had taken the first arrow now lay upon the ground with two other shafts sprouting from it's corpse; one other had completely vanished from the clearing with the last now leveling its spear at the Striking Scorpion with caution in its eyes. Leondris acted first charging the last creature chainsword raised but the spear-wielding foe had been prepared for the action thrusting down with its weapon and catching Leondris on the left breastplate scrapping a thin scar upon the green wraithbone as it sparked past under his armpit. The beast seemed surprised that it didn't pierce the armor but reacted quickly kicking his left leg back and allowing its own weight to twist it around as the Eldar neared. Pushing its spear vertical the creature pulled it back to collide with the chainsword just as it snaked out to stab and tear; the blow would have knocked the sword out of a lesser warriors hand but instead the Eldar allowed the force of it to carry him into his own spin whipping the fanged sword back around to chew into the beast's long arm.

Seemingly ignoring the pain of having half its arm violently cut away the creature jumped back completely forsaking the spear in doing so. The long weapon clattered onto the ground as Leondris rose from his battle crouch and locked eyes with the green thing as it cradled it's wounded limb. There was a focus in the creature's eyes that brought a clarity back to Leondris. Was this some sort of warrior respect? There was hatred in those eyes, something strange in and of itself, Orks did not hate things. Orks were the embodiment of pure violence, conflict was their natural state, aggression their primary form of mind - if you could all it that, they did not hate what they fought. On the contrary they seemed to develop fondness for what gave them a good battle. So why then did this Ork-kin show hatred and focus? Why did an understanding pass between them?

He let it leave and retrieved his helmet.

* * *

Squatting in a tree for seven hours would best be described as dreadfully boring. Squatting in a tree while watching a tribe of the cannibalistic ancient enemies of your people would best be described as dangerously boring. Still just as boring but now if you gave into that boredom and missed something or made a mistake it could result not only in your death but the deaths of many more. Still so terribly boring though. Ranger Lilatha was used to spending many of her days doing such things and this day was no different, at least, until an arcane vibration pulsed through the air that even the Forest Trolls below noticed.

They exchanged words about it before four of them split off from the rest of the tribe heading westward. Curious about the source of this distortion herself and knowing the larger groups route by heart Lilatha prioritized following the four. Her legs ached from remaining still for so long but the pain was quickly worked out as she snaked her way from her perch in the tree and into the shadowy foliage below. Moving unseen through the Ghostlands was both easy and surprisingly complicated. The forest provided plenty of shadows but the ground lacked in the way of cover beyond the pale trees; much of what foliage it did have that stood tall enough to use for hiding was poisonous. Someone untrained and unfamiliar with the land would find it aggravatingly difficult to safely navigate. Of course, Lilatha, Ranger of the Farstrider Enclave, was both expertly trained and had years of familiarity with the land - she was but another shadow in a forest of shadows.

She followed the four Trolls for some time, it was hard to tell exactly how long with no clear view of the sky, until they came to a stop on one of the countless trails that veined the forest. The ax wielding one sniffed at the air, Lilatha reflexively flinched further down only to curse herself for the action, yet the Trolls remained unaware of their stalker instead picking up on a different scent. Exchanging more words in their rough language the four of them separated - each sniffing the air and following it in a different direction. Unfortunately Lilatha's own sense of smell is not as keen as her enemies so she would not be able follow whatever it is they picked up on instead she decided it would be best to remain tailing the leader.

The main threat that comes with such a situation is that when one of the Trolls that split off returns they could effectively be coming from any direction. They could simply stumble across the hidden ranger even if they don't spot her because of a difference in perspective. She had a tight grip on the hilt of the long dagger at her belt as she moved up through the shadows and brush careful to avoid any crunching twigs and those damnable thorns that would have you itching for hours from a poke. Ultimately though it wasn't the ax wielding Troll that found what they sought, a realization that became abundantly clear when the pained roar of another pierced the silence of the forest sending Lilatha's target sprinting further west. She, of course, followed, now caring far less for twigs certain the Troll's own crashing movements and heavy breathing would mask any noise she made.

It's quite difficult to keep up with a Troll running full stride but a Ranger doesn't last long if they can't move quickly through a forest. The source of the other Troll's distress was one she hadn't expected however. She arrived within sight of the forest clearing just in time to witness what appeared to be some sort of half-elven man in strange blood-soaked green armor yanking around the head of a Troll trying to crush him in a bear hug. Lilatha settled behind nearby brush and watched as the man dislodged himself, sent tumbling into a bramble, with the rest of the Troll's party now gathering in the clearing from the different directions they had scattered. Luckily none of them passed near where Lilatha now hid.

What exactly was a half-elf doing this deep in the forest? The strange man sprung out of the bramble twisting around to brandish a sword unlike any she had seen before. It was long and sleek in design, looking very elvish in influence, but instead of a traditional blade it held multiple small fangs that rotated slowly along it's length. The weapon was made from an unfamiliar substance that made it look almost like bone and it gave off a harsh growl. He seemed a bit taken back by the sudden appearance of three other Trolls alongside the first he had been fighting but he gave off a deadly air as he assumed a guard. Intended to fight him is he? Running probably isn't an option considering the bleeding wound on his side.

She watched as they engaged and the strange warrior danced an impressive game around the Trolls who seemed to be getting in each other's way more than being any sort of help. It seems that this half-elf doesn't know how to fight Trolls though for he's continually trying to inflict disabling wounds, something the Troll's natural regenerative prowess made a lesson in futility. He wasn't getting anywhere going for cuts like those and it was only a matter of time until a spearhead found that exposed face of his. Was he worth exposing herself for? Even if she joined they were outnumbered two to one and he was already injured. Lilatha didn't like those odds and a tight scar on her left thigh reminded her of what happens when you jump into a losing battle - so she waited.

Just as she settled into her decision however the strange warrior did something unexpected. Instead of launching into a counterattack as he had been doing after one of his dodging dives he instead dashed across the clearing tumbling to scoop up what appeared to be some sort of strange firearm. Was it of Dwarven make? No, the design didn't match them and it looked as if it was the same unknown bone-like material as his armor. Something wasn't right about this whole situation. The arcane vibration, the strange gear, and how did he even get this far north without the Ranger's knowing in the first place? Too many questions and she wanted answers.

Raising her bow Lilatha drew and knocked in arrow with the trained fluidity of a lifetime's practice. She barely thought now about how to actually go about firing only instead where it was she wanted the arrow to be: the soft gap of flesh on the neck that led straight to the windpipe. The situation in the clearing had developed badly for the half-elf, he was lying near prone now with her target having carved a bloody chuck from his face, but the sudden appearance of an arrow in the Troll's neck changed everyone's opinion on the fight. Already a second arrow was knocked and being drawn back with a third arrow held between her pinky and ring. She loosed as the Troll stumbled back taking the beast in the chest, between his third and forth rib, as the half-elf saw his opportunity dashing to engage another of the Troll party. Already though there could be no doubt that the remaining Trolls had figured out where she was firing from, the bastards are cunning like that, she needed to drop her first target now. Her third arrow struck him on the left side digging through tight muscle to bury itself in it's lung.

Then she was being charged. The ax-wielding Troll, their leader, was barreling down at her taking the distance quickly with those long strides. Lilatha jumped back and with her now empty hand tore a sack at her belt spilling jagged metal shards across the ground as she disengaged. It wouldn't stop the Troll, in fact he barely seemed to notice them despite it's feet being bare, but it gave her the time needed to rapid fire an arrow into it's stomach. Then she dropped the bow completely drawing two daggers, her heavy long dagger and a lighter throwing, to enter a defensive crouch. If the caltrops or the arrow bothered the Troll at all it didn't show as the beast launched into a flurry of bloodthirsty strikes that Lilatha had to nearly roll her whole body to parry. The Troll didn't maintain the upper hand for long though as she parried another strike from it's right ax then spun under its arm using her lighter dagger to cut a gash along its leg. It wouldn't do much but it would slow him turning around as she danced behind the beast.

With a deft hand she unclipped her cloak and twirled it around her off-hand, the hand holding the throwing dagger, as she stepped away from the enraged Troll. The creature was quick on it's heels but Lilatha was faster and by the time it got it's gashed leg to turn it around the ranger hurled the dagger with the cloak trailing behind. The blade missed completely but the billowing green cloth got tangled on the Troll's tusks and wrapped up it's axes as it attempted to cut it away. When it could see clearly it could only watch helplessly as Lilatha spun under its guard and jammed the heavy dagger under its chin and into the brain. It could be considered dead before the body hit the ground.

Retrieving her bow and knocking another arrow she approached the clearing again just as the last Troll finished its exchange with the half-elf and took off into the forest. She contemplated firing after the creature but didn't consider the effort worth the reward, it's not like a single arrow could bring it down anyway. The half-elf went to retrieve his helmet and with no small amount of cautionary hesitation Lilatha decided to join him in the clearing. A faint hissing of air could be heard as the helm apparently locked itself into place on the warrior's suit then he turned to face her as she stepped into view. A tense silence settled between them; the ranger unsure of what to say and the strange warrior looking more than a little intimidating covered head to toe in various shades of blood. He tensed up and for a breathtakingly frightening moment Lilatha thought he was going to attack but instead he toppled over.

"Hey!" She spoke quickly as she rushed to his side. There was no way for her to check for a pulse, the thick suit covered his entire body, but she wasn't going to have gone through all of that just to have him die on her here. She sacrificed her cloak for Fel's sake! Looking to her belt again she produced a bright green folded leaf - unfolding it and rubbing the powdery white sludge held within across the stab wound in the man's abdomen. If she could get to his mouth she would have him drink a health potion but no amount of prying seemed to be able to remove his damnable helmet. "Don't die on me you hear," the ranger grunted out as she hefted the man over her shoulders, "I'll kick your ass if you die on me."

* * *

The Enclave was quite surprised when one of it's rangers returned carrying a warrior in strange armor over her shoulders. Lilatha herself was more just relieved to get the weight off her and was unresponsive to the barrage of questions presented by those who first greeted her. The man was rushed to a medical chamber but without the ability to remove his armor, and they tried everything they could without risking further damage to his condition, there was little more they could do for him beyond a cleaning and what poultice Lilatha had already applied. They merely had to wait and hope he pulled through. A day passed and Lilatha gave a full debrief of what had occurred in the woods to Captain Helios, who in turn assigned Lilatha to overseeing his care. "Finders keepers as they say," being an exact quote of the man. Lilatha though was actually quite pleased with the decision, she was curious about the half-elf, well everyone was really. Around midday she went to the medical chamber to check his bandages and upon setting a tray down heard the squeak of a moving bed.

Turning around she found the man already sat up, his feet on the ground though still sitting upon the bed, and starring at her through the red eyes of his helm. They had cleaned his armor, whipping it down as best they could, and now the man possessed a sense of majesty to him despite simply sitting on a medical bed. Once again though she found herself at a loss for words and before she could come up with something to say she simply couldn't. She couldn't speak. Wait, what? Shock and fear ran through her like wildfire as her brain cried out desperately for air. The half-elf had shot up like lightning clutching the ranger by the neck and hoisting her off her feet. His strength was like the steel of a blademaster and his arm barely moved at all as she struggled in his grasp. Her eyes couldn't move from the blood red shine of his as her vision began to sparkle and black flecks danced across her sight. He turned his head slightly as if a curious dog examining a new toy.

The door opened and Vynna stepped in carrying a plate of fruits only to drop it at the sight that greeted her, "Lilatha!"

* * *

 _Author's Notes:_

This took far longer to get posted than I had originally anticipated. I apologize for that, work had me switching shifts and I had a bunch of other stuff going on and excuses excuses. While I do have other projects I am writing for I do promise to try and update this on a more reasonable timetable. Despite the fact that this whole chapter was basically one action scene I hope it didn't drag.

As always, feel free to leave a review offering your opinion, any critique you may have, or any suggestions/wants for the future of the story. Thank you.


	3. Communication Problems

Blood burned through his veins like magma through the earth. Thrilling his senses and stinging his mind as, for the first time in what felt forever, Leondris was whole again. The war-mask that lays itself over the mind of all the Aspect Warriors of Khaine had retreated back to the dark recesses of his soul yet in this situation he wished he could spare the time to call it back. A faint echo of his own pounding heart could be felt through the fibers of his suit as his hand squeezed around the neck of the strange being that was standing above him as he awoke. Distinctly female in form the stranger was lighter than he had first anticipated when he struck out for her neck.

Leondris was holding his arm straight out but given the height difference he had on the girl she now dangled in his grasp just off the ground. What exactly is she though? The girl clearly displays many of the traits one would attribute to an Eldar, the slender musculature and sharp features, but her ears are elongated to grotesque proportions and her eyes burn with a green energy that reeks of Chaos taint in his mind. Perhaps some form of daemon attempting to fool him? Have the blessings of Morai-Heg given him the clairvoyance to detect flaws in the illusion?

She made a noise, just a gargle of escaping air, that refocused the Eldar away from his theories and back to the girl he was choking - the distraction only a fraction of a second. It is strange that she remains so calm, her face almost serene, as her access to air was cut off. The flowing green of her eyes locked with the red glean of the Striking Scorpion's visor. Beneath the solidarity of his helm Leondris searched her for further signs of taint, both physically and psychically, reaching out with his mind to carefully prod hers only to find that she had very little psychic presence at all. 'Strange,' he thought, he had encountered daemons before and even when deliberately hiding themselves they had a distinct feel when you focused for it so directly.

Before Leondris could do anything with this revelation however, the door to the room opened as another of the Eldar-like stepped inside carrying a tray of what appeared to be fruit. She looks much the same as the one still held in his grip save for a head of bright red hair, contrary to the oaken brunette of the choking girl, and a different structure to her face. Upon seeing the scene of the room however the newcomer dropped the tray in shock and screamed what Leondris figured was the name of the one he held, "Lilatha!"

Everything seemed to pause for a moment, as if the world itself had difficulty deciding what would happen next, until, with a trained speed, the new girl drew a long dagger from her belt and charged the Eldar warrior in a flash. Now though, even if his body was not fully recovered, the Striking Scorpion had his finesse back. Stepping up on the balls of his feet and arcing his back Leondris dodged the stab by an inch as he sent his empty hand slapping down to crack upon the wrist of his attacker before stripping the dagger from her hands. In one fluid motion he brought Lilatha around slamming the two women together to topple onto the bed he had previously occupied only a minute ago.

Now armed with the woman's dagger the Striking Scorpion was in full control of the situation. At least, as far as this room went. His memory was incredibly foggy leaving him with no indicator to his location or how he got here. Something was off, if this was truly a daemon-trap then he held little doubt he would be dead already and the very physical ache of his body told him this was no shard reality within the warp meant to torment his soul. Leondris didn't like the concept of having to fight his way off this world alone and as the two women glared at him with blazing green eyes he knew this world would be far stranger than others he had been on.

"What are you?" Leondris asks as he lowers the dagger to a more non-threatening position. He had little doubt that he could still stab either woman before they could try anything. The two looked at each other for a moment. It was a critical mistake, Leondris had to will his body not to react to the opportunity to strike as Khaine's impulses flared up, but the Eldar warrior allowed them their moment of confusion.

"I do _nots underkilen_ ," was Lilatha's response.

The girl spoke in a strange mockery of the Eldar language, even ignoring the physical and psychic components of their dialect, making it difficult to understand what it was they were saying. Although, after a moment of thought, he figured she had said they did not understand him. To them his own words probably sounded overly complex and drawn out. Continuing to speak in such a manner would prove to be highly inefficient and aggravating; not to mention the potential disaster that could come about from misunderstanding. Leondris decided to try another language; perhaps the language of the mon-keigh would be familiar to them, he would start with the dialect known as 'Low Gothic'.

"Do you know this?" Leondris spoke slowly as to allow each word to be heard clearly. The mon-keigh language was not something he knew extensively and was aware that he spoke with an accent when using it but if they understood it would have to do.

" _Tri Nigeln_ ," Lilatha answered, this was a different language than what she had first spoken and even more unfamiliar to the Eldar. High Gothic proved to be even further from understanding. The language barrier was going to be detrimental to any attempts to deescalate the situation. Not for the first time did Leondris regret his instinctual response of violence that had embedded itself within him since first hearing Khaine's call. Flickering and foggy memories of lanky green creatures and an arrow shot from the dark was increasing the sentiment in his mind that he would both need allies and that these would be the best option. They could potentially even be the only reason he was still alive.

Flipping the dagger with his fingers he presented it, hilt first, back to the unnamed ranger with his left hand while his right pressed flat above his heart and he bowed his head ever-so slightly. It was meant as a gesture of appeasement but he feared they wouldn't understand its meaning. The two rangers stood from where they had been thrown and eyed him curiously. The one whom he had stripped the dagger from took back the blade with a cautious slowness but just as she gripped the hilt the door to the room flew open again as another of the long-eared, this time a male, burst inside sword drawn and shouting words the Eldar did not understand.

The ranger had jumped back at the other's sudden intrusion dragging the blade across the Eldar's palm in the process. The Eldar paid it no mind as he stood straight again and watched as the three exchanged words. As one they turned to look at him again and the first girl, Lilatha, made a motion that could be simply interpreted as them wanting him to remove his helmet. Leondris studied them again, scanning over the dagger he handed back and the longsword in the newcomers grasp, before checking the material along his palm to verify that the steel could not pierce it - hardly a scratch.

Fine, he would play along. Reaching up he gave the psychic signals to the wraithbone locks along his jaw to release as he began to pull the long helm from his head. A soft hiss and pop of moving parts and releasing pressure broke what was an eerie silence that had settled into the room causing two of the rangers to move slightly at the noise. Lilatha did not stir at all. The green scorpion helm came off revealing the Eldar beneath. His skin was extremely pale, with ashen hair shaven short near the sides of his ears and with the rest tied into a small top knot. Upon the center of his forehead the orange rune of Khaine was painted and his eyes were sharp with the focus one would expect of a warrior of his kind yet bore the dull glimmer of someone who has seen the full brunt of the horrors of war.

As he watched the three study him it occurred to Leondris what had drawn him to the eyes of Lilatha and not the other two, that mutual gleam. They had both seen things that wounded the soul. Perhaps it was the cause of his perception of her as a potential daemon trick when framed by the paranoia of his mind. The three seemed satisfied by whatever inspection they had given him. The unnamed female ranger said something to the male who nodded and stepped out of the room after a final long glance at the Eldar warrior.

Leondris knew that the language barrier would need to be overcome if there was to be any hope of him securing a working relationship with these people, and he knew a way to do such, but he feared that due to his rash actions such an opportunity may be far from presenting itself. He prayed for the luck of Cegorach to grace him.

* * *

"So he can't understand us?"

"Not directly no, sir," Lilatha answered as she glanced again at the strange half-elf siting in the chair at the center of the room, "he doesn't seem to know Thalassian, Orcish, nor Common although he has demonstrated cunning in interpreting our intent."

Captain Helios rested his chin on his hands as he studied the unknown warrior and contemplated what to do with him. They had all gathered in his office, the three from the Infirmary incident: Lilatha, Vynna, and Krenn'an, as well as being joined by Magister Kaendris. It made for a crowded room but he wanted them all there. The half-elf himself seemed to be cooperating but he certainly gave off the presence of a wolf among sheep and after sixty years of service in the Farstriders Captain Helios hardly considered himself a sheep.

"Magister Kaendris, have you had any luck trying to determine the language he speaks?" the Captain asks without turning to look at the silver-haired mage.

"No, sir," the magister answered with a frown, "it seems like an ancient variant of Thalassian but it's far too altered for me to be able to make out more than a single word out of a hundred and even then who's to say it holds the same meaning. Speaking with him will be like when we first made contact with the orcs, although this time we have no magical spies to ease the process."

"Without a way to communicate this man serves as a risky question more than anything," Helios spoke to the assembled group, "even ignoring the unknown dialect and strange equipment what a half-elf is doing in the Ghostlands without any of the Farstriders knowing of it is cause enough for concern. I don't like differing my work but I do believe the answers to these questions are beyond my grasp here at the Enclave. If no one here has any better ideas, I'm going to send him to Silvermoon."

A few of the elves furrowed their brows either in thought or frustration but none spoke up. It wasn't common for a Ranger to not be able to handle something, versatility and independent capability was something they prided themselves in, so a situation in which they had no tool for the job was aggravating to their core. Truly though, it would be the specialists and higher ups in Silvermoon that would be able to figure the mystery man out and it was the best solution available to them even if it did leave their collective curiosity's un-sated. They each turned to look at the half-elf, each now contemplating a way to get him to cooperate for the transfer. Since his initial aggression when he awoke the man had been incredibly docile although now he eyed his weapons, stored behind Captain Helios's desk, intently.

It was Lilatha who acted first, stepping forward to place a hand on the green-armored warrior's shoulder. It was a slow action, made from the side so that the half-elf could see her coming. He simply turned his head to look at her, his gaze searching hers as she gestured with her head towards the door. The half-elf stood but didn't move towards the exit instead leveling a finger toward the strange fanged sword leaning against the chair in the back of the room, which also contained his firearm-like weapon and long helmet, before tapping his chest with two fingers. It didn't take a mage-level intellect to deduce that he wanted the gear to be kept with him.

"I'm not going to arm the man," the Captain answers to Lilatha's unasked question, "I will be sending his gear to Silvermoon with him. Even if they decide the man is not to be trusted the Magisters will no doubt want to examine this strange armament of his. The caravan will leave tomorrow at dawn."

The half-elf's gaze had turned to the Captain as he spoke but now he looked back to Lilatha. The woman nodded to him then escorted the strange warrior from the room. The rest of those gathered turned to follow leaving Captain Helios to complete the paperwork necessary for a sudden 'prisoner' transfer and to contemplate the unknown arsenal at his side.

* * *

These long-eared creatures paraded him through their structure like an animal on display. Those around him all tense with the readiness to draw steel, save for Lilatha who guided him by his arm as if a lost child paying no mind to the fresh purple-blue bruises that painted her neck. There are more of these creatures here as well, along the edges of the building and looking down at him as they stood next to large golden statues of what he could only presume to be their heroes given the statues were armed with similar equipment. If such adornments were to be considered any indicator then these were a prosperous people - by the standards of a society that still utilized the bow as their primary form of ranged warfare.

When they reached the door that led back into the room in which he had awoke, what he presumed was an infirmary, Lilatha spoke, " _Valitneri es hedical ets_ ," she said the words of her familiar yet unknown language with a slowness that he could not tell if was for his benefit or was simply her way of speaking, " _to wel kinden_."

The rest of his presumptuous guard exchanged looks before offering their own thoughts to the woman in response to whatever it was she had said. Leondris simply watched the exchange with a stoic curiosity, the dark of his eyes flickering between them as they spoke and trying to ignore the way the male long-ear scratched at his sword hilt. It was strange that despite seemingly being of a military persuasion they did not display any sort of clear chain-of-command between them beyond their clear observance of the long-haired male behind the desk that they had taken him to meet. Perhaps their force was more akin to the way a Shrine organized themselves than the rigid structure of the mon-keigh military. Regardless, it seemed as though Lilatha was not going to budge on whatever she had told them and the group dispersed as the woman guided Leondris back through the door.

Yet as he stepped through the threshold and looked back over his shoulder at the departing group it was not a long-ear that caught his attention but rather the moving figure behind one. As the door closed to cut off his vision of the main area of the building he saw it, a hunched and pale creature most certainly a mon-keigh but bearing the rot and decay of a corpse. Did a follower of Nurgle walk openly among these people? Perhaps the Chaos-taint he had first associated their eyes with was not so far off.

He was alone with the girl again, Lilatha, who now stood opposite him with an expression of thought written upon her face. After a moment she moved over to one of the wooden cabinets situated near each of the beds drawing from within a roll of cotton gauze holding it in her hand so that he could clearly see as she pointed at her abdomen. She wanted to examine the wound he had first awoken with in the forest, it came to him then, the wound that was caused by the dagger wielded by the Chaos sorcerer in his nefarious ritual. He closed his eyes at the sudden pulse of a headache that came with the returning memories. If she wanted to examine his wound he would need to remove his armor; his one remaining advantage against being outnumbered in a fight.

Yet this also presented him with the exact situation he was hoping for. It would be a gamble, one that could cost him his life, but refusal would serve him little better. Moving so that he stood beside the bed he had awoken in he touched his thumb with his middle finger willing the latches along his wrist and forearm to open. The wraithbone moved silently along his form allowing him to remove the gauntlets exposing the pale and callused flesh of his hands. With similar commands he traced the lining of his armor, the green material retreating from his touch until as a whole his chest plate was removed leaving only a green stone hanging from a cord around his neck.

Lilatha watched silently, transfixed first by the strange way his armor seemed to seal itself around him and move on its own, then by the numerous scars that adorned his exposed upper body. It wasn't just the amount of the scars that caught her attention, such things were commonplace among warriors, but rather the manner in which the scar tissue seemed to have knit itself together. Tiny lines of crystal danced across the memories of his wounds like staples that had never been removed causing the gray-white patches of flesh to almost sparkle from a distance. The stab wound that was the purpose of this however was not as transfixing; it was dark with matted dried blood and the skin around the wound was gnarled in a sickly yellow color.

She rushed forward seeking the alchemical disinfectant within the cabinet next to Leondris but the Eldar raised a hand to stop her. Her movement had already begun however causing the man to catch her by the shoulder as he physically stopped her when his gesture did not. He raised a finger to her sight with his left hand as his right went to one of the purple gems along his belt; the gem shimmered for a moment before melting away at his touch revealing a trinket within that fell into his palm. It was a thin thing, a grey crescent moon cradling a blue jewel.

Lilatha eyed the object curiously not knowing it as the Eldar did. The trinket is a Wraithcure Jewel, an item issued to all of the Eldar when sent to war designed for first aid. The Striking Scorpion channeled the flows of his mind into the jewel as he brought it close to the wound crushing it in his hand as it began to glow a deep violet. A sharp sting, like a thousand hot needles pressing into him, ran up his spine as the wraithbone crystal injected itself into him twisting his flesh and altering itself to force his body to accept it as its own. Infection could persist through the closing of the wound but the blessings of Isha would destroy what remained within him now that the source was gone, he was sure of that. Leondris heaved a heavy breath of relief.

Removing his hand from the wound he revealed the results of his work to the girl. The hole in his abdomen was filled and covered over by a material looking much like pressed glass. Save for the rainbow lines that danced within it the material was clear allowing Lilatha to see the grey-pink of his lower intestine if she looked hard enough. She had never seen anything like it, alchemy sped the healing process but took time and the miracle healing of the Light simply returned the flesh to how it was before the wound so what was this material? She looked up at the Eldar's eyes, finding only a cold and dull stare in return. Lilatha raised her hand hesitantly, her eyes a continual flicker between the wound and the Eldar's own, worried that her intrusion could cause another attack from the man. He did not stop her.

The wraithbone crystal was smooth and slightly cold to her touch. Where it met the skin was a transition without even the slightest of bumps, as if the crystal and skin truly was one and the same. While Lilatha was not an official medic all of the Farstriders are trained in basic medical procedures and she had more experience dealing with the wounded than most. The Enclave's dedicated medical officer, Silvi Featherwind, had done the initial assessment and treatment of the man when he arrived although with his recent outburst they had decided it would be best for Lilatha to check his wound given he had the most contact with her. A distant part of her also realized that if he did attack her death would be a more acceptable loss than that of the medical officer.

If the glittering lines adorning the rest of the alien warriors scars were to be of any indicator she guessed that the crystal would either turn to flesh or would allow flesh to grow through it. It was a strange way to heal a wound but everything about the man had been strange. Lilatha made a mental note to pass how he treated his wound to the Captain; one could never truly be sure what piece of information could be of use. Removing her hand she nodded and stepped aside to open a drawer at the foot of the bed removing a set of simple wool garments and placing them beside where the strange warrior had set himself. She doubted the man would willingly remove his armor for more than a short period of time but she wanted to offer in case the suit was somehow uncomfortable for him.

The Eldar looked at the garments for a moment before reaching out and feeling the fine wool of the clothes. They were well made and not something he would expect of a prisoner to wear, something he was having difficulty determining if he was. Regardless, even if he did fully trust these people, and he hardly trusted them at all, he would not feel comfortable parting with his armor surrounded by so many unknowns. Turning his attention back to the girl Leondris shook his head from side to side, a gesture that seemed to be understood as "no" by almost every people no matter how separate they are from their roots. Lilatha nodded in acknowledgement and returned the clothes back to the drawer.

Pulling the upper half of his body suit back on the Striking Scorpion began the ritual processes of equipping his wraithbone armor. Muttering thanks to the teachings of Vaul and prayers for the blessings of Isha his mind expanded it's influence with each added layer of protection merging with, and in turn being enhanced by, the psychic wells hidden within them. The process felt incomplete without access to his chainsword and shuriken pistol but retrieving them now would cause more harm than good. With a slight pop of escaping air the heavy armor once again wrapped his form although he left his helmet on the small table near his bed.

Lilatha was unsure of what she should do. Conversation with the man was impossible due to the language barrier yet her colleagues had asked her to get as much information from the man as she could. After a few more moments of staring and attempting to ignore the awkward silence that had settled into the room she breathed a light sigh and concluded that nothing more could be done. The strange crystal healing was enough to appease her fellows even if it did only serve to add more questions than give any sort of answers to the many they already held.

"I'm sorry to say that we can't have you leaving this room tonight," Lilatha told the man knowing full well he would not understand her, "but try to get some rest. I believe the Captain is wanting to have you on the way to Silvermoon tomorrow morning."

With those final words, told as if speaking to a wall, the girl turned and left the infirmary. Leondris sat on the bed and stared at the green Striking Scorpion helm as he delved into his mind attempting to fill in the gaps that plagued his memory. The encounter with the green skinned creature when he first arrived returned to him in flashes and he could recall the events with the Chaos cultists clearly now. Whatever ritual that sorcerer was performing had sent him here, that was the only answer he could think of, but where exactly was here? He needed to orientate himself and find some way to get in contact with the nearest Eldar forces. Hopefully this planet held access to the webway, few planets didn't, he would just need to find it.

None of this could be achieved from within the soft room they had locked him in but for now he would let the situation with these Eldar-similar creatures play out as they would like. With any luck his demonstration with the Wraithcure Jewel was enough to at least slightly increase their trust with him, or at least their curiosity, he would have to sleep eventually and could do without waking up to a knife in the night. Clenching and un-clenching his fist, feeling the strength of his war-suit's fibers, he held little doubt that while fully healed he could murder his way away from them if he needed to but that would leave him with little options afterwords. Watching the door it occurred to him that if they wanted him dead they wouldn't have tried to heal his wounds but his paranoia wouldn't allow him to sleep even if he decided to; so instead he folded his legs before him, placed the helm on his head, and meditated on the teachings of Khaine and his Exarch just as he had within the twilight jungle of his Shrine a thousand times before.

* * *

"I want a mile spread in each direction," Captain Helios spoke to the group as they checked over the saddlebags of their Hawkstriders, "if the stranger has friends you'll need warning of an approach. I wouldn't think a large force could make it past our borders without us noticing but he is here so I don't want you taking any chances; if it comes to it prioritize your own lives."

It was a speech he had repeated three times already this morning and one those assembled had heard countless times before. No matter how experienced his rangers are Captain Helios always fussed over them like they were green recuits straight out of apprenticeship.

"We know the procedures, Captain," Vynna stated as she tightened the last strap, her Hawkstrider giving a slight squawk at the pressure before the Blood Elf quieted it with a pat on it's purple feathered chest, "this isn't our first prisoner escort." She gave her commander a familiar smile.

"Just reminding you is all. You can never tell what might flee the mind in times of peace."

The convoy consisted of a single wagon, in which Leondris and Lilatha sat, pulled by a blue Hawkstrider with two rangers in it's pilot seat, Krenn'an and Sedina. Four other rangers would accompany the cart on their own mounts, two in the front and two in the back - Vynna, Dusking, Solanna, and Selron. It would leave the Farstrider Enclave at half strength with so many other rangers and personnel spread throughout the Ghostlands and beyond but the arrival of this half-elf was the biggest event they've had all year. Which was a blessing for sure, they fought for peace, but one can only go on routine patrols for so long before one craved some sort of action again. The fact that remnants of the Troll tribes were starting to patrol farther out of the wilds and into elven lands had given them thoughts of another Troll purge but until orders came down from the Ranger-General they could do nothing but watch unless if they came too deep.

The Captain looked towards the wagon only to find the strange warrior looking back at him. Their eyes met, the half-elf's strange helm laying next to him in the seat with his weapons being held by Vynna at the front of the escort, and something about the warrior's eyes made Helios rub the hilt of the sword at his hip. He couldn't quite place it, like an instinct long forgotten, but something about the man made his blood get hot like it used to when he was in the thick of combat. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced since the invasion of Quel'thalas by the Scourge. As if the half-elf was a figment of war made manifest that threatened to drag him along into a whirlpool of violence. The Ranger Captain rolled his shoulders and the feeling was gone, as if a moment before he had not been at the precipice of some great act of bloodshed, he turned from the half-elf's gaze and had to forcibly will his white-knuckled hand from his sword hilt as he inspected the escort yet again.

Leondris watched the leader of these people turn from him, red cloak billowing in the stirring wind, as the Eldar frowned in curiosity. He had reached out with his mind to prod at the Captain's yet when he did what called back to him was not at all what he expected. The Striking Scorpion had experienced it before only once, when his Shrine had traversed one of the many spring domes of his home. It had boiled unbidden from him then just as it had now, Khaine calling another to war. It was faint, not the deafening war horn it had been on the Craftworld, so faint he could have missed it if it didn't burn his soul on the way up like acidic bile. Even ignoring the death grip the man had held on his sword it was obvious the long-ear had felt it to. Khaine only called to the wayward children of Isha and Kurnous, the Eldar, so if the bloody-handed god called to them, even distantly, then what does it make these creatures?

Lilatha was sitting across from him quite obviously studying the rune upon his forehead. It was painted with the sap of the shadefang flower that grew within the biome of his Shrine, a custom practiced by many of the Aspect Warriors from Il-Kaithe. She clearly knew nothing of the symbol however and he knew no way he could explain its meaning so he remained silent instead leaning back against the wood of the wagon and closing his eyes with an exasperated sigh. They would surely be taking him to a place with even more guards in which his chances of survival would be even further in the hands of these strange people, stranded on some foreign world, lost and forgotten from his race's struggle against the Ruinous Powers and the promised afterlife of the Infinity Circuit.

The pressure of his Spirit Stone ached on his chest. "Isha preserve me."


	4. Local Attention

"I'm telling you, it fell over here!" Billy called out to his friend, his voice light, a child barely over the age of nine, "not near the Stonefield's farm like you said!"

Jamie, a year younger than Billy with a full head of bright gold hair, bounced along behind him as they traversed the leafy spring underbrush of Elwynn Forest, "well how should I know! It looked closer when I saw it!"

The two children scurried over a log each giggling from both the pleasure of each other's company as much as the excitement at the thought of their star-hunt coming to a head. A day earlier in the middle of the night both the children had spotted a shooting star that came crashing down remarkably close to their homes, or so they thought, close enough that the children thought it a worthy adventure to see if they could find the star. The sun was barely coming over the rise of the mountains when they had left Goldshire and now it was beginning to reach its zenith in the sky. If they spent much longer away their parents would start to worry, as it was the children should be working on their morning chores but they had done much of it the day before so that they could go on their hunt.

"Look there! The trees!" Jamie called out as she stood on a small boulder, making her about the same height as Billy, pointing towards a stretch of trees just to the left of the direction they were heading. The tops of the trees had been broken off, caved inward, with the edges of what is visible blackened and charred. Exactly what the children expected a shooting star to make on it's way in. After all, the sun is a star and it's hot.

"Come on Jamie!" Billy excitedly chirped as he helped the younger girl over a bramble, "let's go get ourselves a star!"

They covered the distance between them and the crash site with a surprising swiftness given their short legs. Such was the power of a child's excited energy. Jamie was right, the star they had seen the night before had crashed here. The decimation it left in it's wake was more and more prevalent as they drew closer but this dissuaded the children none. It made sense to them that something like a star would scar the land when it crashed down and the sight of such destruction only enforced their excitement that they were close to getting their star. What awaited them at the impact site was not what they were looking for however.

Where the children had expected a crater containing a glowing rock or some other form of nimbus energy they instead found a man wearing elaborate purple robes cradling a golden staff while lying in a pool of blood and bile. The children stood in shock at the sight, not even a breath escaped them before Jamie screamed as the reality of the scene before her finally dawned. Billy stepped between her and the fallen robed man, perhaps out of some inate sense to shield her from the scene or perhaps because behaving as his father would allowed him to steel himself against the horror before him. Billy did not know why he did it himself.

Their initial shock at the scene quickly faded however and their fight-or-fight instincts suddenly seemed rather silly to them. It was the first time either of the children had seen a human corpse but not the first time they had encountered death, they are farm raised after all. The man had a head of long raven-black hair that was matted around his head obscuring the features of his face. His robe was ornate, if dirty, and a golden staff was not normally something people carried around Elywnn; the man was definitely some sort of mage. It occurred to Billy that a mage could be interested in a falling star as well, something like that would probably have some magical use, and if the mage is dead now then that means something killed him when he came to retrieve it.

Billy quickly scanned the edges of the crater and the surrounding brush for any signs of danger. Nothing moved, but still the fear of impending doom was strong with him, so strong that it seemed to nip at the back of his neck like a stray dog chasing a wagon's wheels. They needed to leave before whatever happened to this mage happened to them to.

"We have to go Jam-" Billy's voice cut off as another noise filled the whole in the earth that they currently resided. The mage moaned, loud, pained, and invasive. It was so sudden and so unexpected that both the children jumped in surprise as Billy's heart threatened to burst from his chest. The mage was alive? But the pool of blood... far too much of it to come from a wound that wasn't fatal. Then how? That noise was from the mage for sure, it wasn't a trick of his mind because Jamie heard it to, if the mage was still alive then...

"Uh... mister?" Jamie asked the question to the presumed corpse before Billy could settle his thoughts.

The answer came quickly, another moan, just as loud and eerie as the first but it confirmed that the man was alive, even if obviously injured. Billy felt the girl behind him more than saw her but it was her reaction to the noise that allowed him to make up his own mind. As always Jamie wanted to help whenever she could. Whether it was shearing the sheep, making dinner, or now perhaps saving a mage's life, Jamie always wanted to help. And Billy would follow her example. The two children rushed down the side of the crater, kicking up dirt as they did, until they stood at the edge of the crimson-yellow pool.

Closer now they could see what they couldn't before. The soft ripple in the sickly liquid around the man, caused by the ever-so small rise and fall of the man's labored breathing. Billy had seen animals that were about to pass away, too weak to continue life, he had seen their final breaths and that's exactly what the man looks like now. They did not have the time to go get help and return, he really would be dead by then. As with all adults the mage was far taller than them but could be considered rather thin and Billy was strong, for a nine year old, with Jamie's help if they left the golden staff they just might be able to drag him back. Or at least close enough that another farmer might notice them to give aid. First, he would have to locate the wound so they could close it if need be otherwise the man was going to bleed out before they could carry him from the crater.

Stepping into the pool and trying, mostly failing, to hide the distaste from his face Billy walked to the front of the man so that he could lift him to search for the wound. The man rolled easily enough, letting out another moan as he did, yet the young farmer could not find any sign of injury on the man. It made no sense, the blood had to come from somewhere, but the man's robes were completely intact as far as Billy could find. Unless it was perhaps a wound on the man's legs. Most of the robe was sullied red so he couldn't follow the color to find the source. Perhaps once they got the man moving they could see if any blood still flowed and trace it if so. Jamie looked at him for guidance, clearing wanting to do something but not knowing what.

"Here," Billy began as he looked up at the girl, "take the other arm and lets get him out of this hole."

The children took position on either side of the man then, with an audible effort, tucked themselves under his arms and began to pick up the still-breathing cadaver. The mage shivered violently under the children's efforts yet was surprisingly heavy, the children managing to only barely lift his upper half a foot from the ground. Billy didn't understand why lifting the man was so difficult but was determined not to abandon him as they tried to drag him from the pool of bodily fluids. However, it was if something was tethering him to the spot. The mage's breath was harsh and came in labored gasps that lacked any real rhythm. The man's hands were extremely thin, skin on bone and little else, and hung limply from the wide sleeves of his robes as they dangled over the children's shoulders. A feeling of dread was rising in the back of Billy's mind.

"Children..." The man wheezed out the word. The voice was so weak that even with his ear so close to the man's mouth Billy could hardly understand it.

"Don't worry," Jamie said between a labored step up the crumbling side of the crater, "we'll save you, Mr. Mage."

"Yes," the mage gave a chuckle that rattled his bones, "you will."

The children were so preoccupied with their struggling attempt that they did not notice the pooled blood around them darkening, they did not notice that the mage's eyes held three pupils, they did not notice their approaching doom until it was far too late. The blood around them had turned from a dull red to a dark purple and in an instant it solidified into a hundred tentacles that lashed and tethered the children pulling them away from the mage. Then, with a sickly blue light, the children's awakening screams of horror turned to putrid gurgles as they were pulled into the crimson ichor veins of dark purple erupting from the gashes inflicted by the tentacles and overtaking the small bodies of the children in the blink of an eye. Their skin bubbled and turned blue, their bones shattered and liquefied, their blood burned black as the children were violently transformed into little more than husks. In turn the mage, the man from another world, the Chaos Sorcerer of Tzeentch, known by the name of Emmerich Stelios, consumed everything; all of the foul muck was sucked into him in a sickening gurgle that sounded so unnatural that even the deepest bog would have been disturbed by the noise, yet the man... was restored.

He now looked a man in the midst of his twenties, healthy and full of vigor. His long black hair was still matted about him, his robes still soiled with his own bodily fluid, but now he stood easily and breathed full breaths of the fresh pine air. The spell had done more than consume the children's bodies to restore him however; it had eaten away at their very souls, Emmerich had supped upon the fabric of their minds. His eyes flickered and changed in his sockets as he retrieved his golden staff. Lifting it before him and appreciating the way it twinkled in the midday sun, then, he turned his attention westward.

"Azeroth..."

* * *

The breeze carried the salt of the sea waters up the tall battlements of Stormwind Harbor to wash against the senses of Officer Jaxon as he finished off his second patrol for the day and began working his way back towards the guard garrison. Although his normal patrol route was focused around the Trade District of the city, a route he chose so that he could be near his wife Elaine Jaxon who worked as an Auctioneer there, recently he had taken to alleviating the younger guards of their route times so he could spend more time out amongst the city. As he has gotten older, now a man in his early forties, and risen in rank within the Stormwind Guard more and more his higher ups were pushing him towards a more managerial role with a desk and unending paperwork to match but Jaxon knew his place was out on the streets. He had joined the Guard with the intent to defend his people with blade in hand and he had proven quite suited for that role; a role he wishes to continue filling for as long as possible.

In the end though, if the higher ups wanted him off standard duties there was little he coud do about it. As long as where they put him wasn't in training the new recruits, a duty that took you away from the city for two months at a time, then his wife would probably thank them for it. So for now Jaxon resigned himself to enjoying his casual patrols while they lasted even enjoying the salty tang of the port that filled his nostrils - fish putrification and all. His back was starting to ache fom the weight of his chainmail and plate but the familiar gazes of the townspeople crowding along the streets forced the Guard Officer to keep his back straight and head held high. The presentation the Guard gave the people had a direct effect on how they preceived their safety after all.

The garrison, situated next to the infamous stockades that seem to be eternally suffering from disaster, is made from the same solid white stone that forms all the rest of Stormwind's defensive infrastructure. Alongside the two armored shield-bearing men that stood stationed at the entrance, a countless stream of guardsmen entered and exited the building as they went about their duties. They saluted as Jaxon approached and he returned with gesture with equal vigor. The youthful faces of these guards however, some as young as sixteen, made him feel the weight of his age even more.

Unlike the exterior inside the garrison is made up of warm oaken brown furnishings well lit by the numerous small lanterns hanging on the walls. Full of different workers going about their business and loud with the chorus of overlapping conversations it was easy to get distracted but Officer Jaxon paid little attention to the daily grind of the administration. After so many years of service the garrison was a second home to the man. He moved quickly through the crowd of the main room and back into the offices of the higher ranking members. Although he had originally intended to head directly to his own corner office a better sense of 'just-in-case' had Jaxon turning into the office of Guard Captain Maria to report.

Captain Maria's office is larger than Jaxon's by almost double, full with enough awards and decorations to rival the armory in steel. The Captain herself was a grissled old woman with long gray hair pulled into a braid over her right shoulder. She sat behind her dark brown desk nursing what appears to be a cup of fresh tea. What Jaxon hadn't expected when he opened the door, after knocking lightly and receiving a "come in" of course, was that the Captain had visitors. Normally when she was meeting with someone a small sign was placed in front of the door but it wasn't there now.

"Oh," Jaxon spoke when he realized his intrusion, "sorry Captain, I didn't know you had guests."

Two others besides the two older guardsmen now stood in the office. The first, a tall elegant looking woman with raven black hair in a dark blue Gilnean-style dress, while the second is a gnome wearing equally dark leathers sporting a head of flaired green hair with a matching mustache and small triangle beard. Jaxon knew the gnome, by the name of Torwick Shadespark he was a rogue that had been brought up on charges within the city on more than one occasion - never actually charged with anything though. The woman though he had never seen. She looked at him with sharp eyes but held a level gaze that told of a calm and collected demeanor; his training for profiling told him that she would as hard as the gnome to actually bust for anything. He already didn't like the idea of them being together.

"I told you to come in Jaxon," Captain Maria spoke with a firm voice that was used to decades of command, "don't dwadle in my doorway."

The Guard Officer stepped in quickly closing the door behind him and assuming a position of parade rest at the side of the room beside the suit of gold-inlaid armor that was presented to the Captain by the Dwarves of Ironforge as thanks for the detachment of guardsmen she led to Dun Morogh during the days of Deathwing's rampage across the world. Captain Maria didn't watch him, her gaze remained fixed on the Gilnean woman, who, to her credit, remained clear-faced only giving Jaxon a passing glance as he entered before turning her attention back to the Captain. After a sip of her tea the Captain waved her hand for the woman to continue.

"Ah yes," the Gilnean began, although she paused for a moment to look again at Jaxon, "as I was saying, I consider this to be a sign of danger worth investigation. If I could be given a contingent of guards to accompany me and a writ of authority I will find the source and, if required, put it down."

Captain Maria seemed to think for a moment, took another sip of her tea, then let out a short sigh before speaking.

"I've learned through the years that when a warlock comes to you with ill tidings it's best to listen. That said, 'I sensed something strange' is hardly actionable evidence. Expecially when our own mages didn't pick up on this event at all and you refuse to disclose how exactly you did."

That last statement was made with a hint of edge in her voice. She looked up at the Gilnean woman with a stern expression but the warlock didn't seem fazed by it. The Captain continued.

"So no, I will have to refuse your request for both the troops and the writ."

"But-" the Gilnean woman cut in but was silenced herself by the Captain's raised hand.

"I will however still lend you assistance in this investigation of yours since I also know you're going to do it regardless of my approval or not."

Maria looked at the gnome after she said that who simply shrugged with a smile that twitched his mustache. The Captain turned her attention to Jaxon as she continued to speak.

"I'll be assigning Jaxon here to the case. He's an Officer of the Guard, operating with more authority than a simple writ can give you and has more combat experience than a whole patrol of troopers combined. I will make it clear now though that you will be assisting him in this investigation, not the other way around, Jaxon calls the shots."

"You can't possibly be serious." The warlock protested, "he knows nothing of what we're dealing with and I'm not some simple guardsmen to be ordered about like-"

She was cut off again by the Captain's raised hand.

"Either you work under Officer Jaxon or I'll have you detained here and now for obstruction of justice. Your choice."

A tense silence settled into the room at that. The two women seemed to be attempting to stare holes into each other's skulls while Jaxon appeared to be the perfect representation of military bearing completely un-phased by the suddenly hostile atmosphere. The gnome, Torwick, looked as if he found the whole situation quite funny and it was actually he who broke the silence first.

"You'd best do as the Captain says Alissa," the gnome spoke in the higher pitched voice one would expect of his race, "she really will just lock us both up for a couple of days simply because we pissed her off. I would know."

The woman, Alissa, seemed to not want to give in for a moment but the devilish smile that creeped onto the Captain's face seemed to dispel her thoughts of resistance. She let out a sigh then turned and while placing her hands on her hips actually seemed to look at Jaxon for the first time as if assessing his potential. For his part Jaxon could almost feel the gray of his hair creeping up from around his ears and spreading across his head even further under her gaze.

"All right," Alissa spoke, "but he needs to actually listen when I tell him something. I'm not explaining everything twice and if I need something done I don't want a million questions about why."

"Jaxon is more than capable of keeping up," Captain Maria stated confidently before taking another sip of her tea, "isn't that right?"

"Of course, Ma'am." Jaxon responded promptly and the Captain smiled.

"Now," Maria continued, "I have other business I must attend to beyond this impromptu meeting. You two continue to Officer Jaxon's office. He will no doubt want briefed on his new investigation. As for you Jaxon, you have full operational authority for this. I don't know what all it might entail but that's exactly why I'm assigning you."

Jaxon saluted and with a brief look at the two others in the room to make sure they would follow he opened the door and stepped out. They followed as instructed without hassle and Jaxon led them through the maze of hallways and constant swarm of workers to the relative privacy of his corner office. There he opened the door and ushered Alissa and Torwick inside letting out a small sigh of his own as the Gilnean woman glared at him as she passed and closed the door behind him as he entered himself. Detaching his belt he laid his two blades across the corner of his own, much smaller, desk and swept some of the parchment scattered across it to the side to make room for a fresh sheet he quickly retrieved from a drawer as he sat down. The new situation mirrored the previous but now with Jaxon at it's center and Alissa looking aggravated rather than calm and collected.

"So..." Jaxon began as he picked up a quill and looked between his two guests, well, now his two assistants, "what exactly have I just been assigned into investigating?"

"A world tear," Alissa answered after taking a moment to collect herself, "or something close to that. I detected it earlier today."

"A tear? Could you be more specific?"

"I would if I could. I'm not sure what exactly could have caused the sudden energy spike I picked up on but whatever it was has to be powerful. It didn't have the same feeling as Fel but I'm not ruling that out."

"Alright, potential demon," Jaxon placed the quill back on the table, " and if that's the case then we are time sensitive. Do we at least have a location to start? A lead of some sort?"

He had expected some kind of murder case. Perhaps a turf war in the Magic District or a rogue spell flinger. A cult had crossed his mind on the walk over but the idea of something like that actually growing within Stormwind wasn't something he liked considering. A demon of some sort that was powerful enough to get picked up by other casters when it entered the world wasn't something he had thought of but also didn't like the idea of. That said, the Captain had said that our mages didn't pick up on anything. So what made this woman so special? And why the gnome?

"I do," Alissa answered quickly then looked away from him, "sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of?"

"I know it happened in Elwynn Forest. Beyond that I can't say for certain."

Jaxon frowns at the reply. Scratching at his beard he looks between the two that had been lumped into his company. Torwick had situated himself on one of the stools pulled from a corner of the room and seemed to be occupying himself with humming some tavern song while picking at his fingernails, seemingly uninterested in the conversation. Alissa on the other hand looked as if she was trying to come up with some way to get out of the situation she found herself in. Searching for some kind of reality intrusion somewhere in Elwynn Forest huh? Elwynn is a big place... but that was actionable information he could at least start with. During his time as a primary investigator he'd let many a trail grow cold trying to work through information at the start of an investigation and had made a habit out of starting on the actual field work of a assignment as quickly as possible; he wasn't going to break that habit now.

"Pack whatever gear you think you'll need and meet me at the main gate in an hour."

The two both seemed surprised by that. Torwick stopped mid syllable to raise an eyebrow at the guardsman while Alissa twisted around to look at him sending the skirt of her dress dancing.

"What?" she began, "just like that? Aren't you going to get more troops or something?"

"Don't have enough to spare on something that doesn't have a proper threat assessment yet," Jaxon stood from his chair, suppressing a light groan and the part of his brain complaining about not getting to actually rest, "and the Guard has a contact in Elwynn that should be able to help us but if we want to reach them before nightfall we need to be on the road soon. We can walk and talk at the same time."

Grabbing his sword belt again he hooked it around his waist feeling only slightly silly for having taken it off only minutes ago. The two quickly followed behind him as he stepped out of his seldom-used office and back into the throng of hallways and workers.

"Why are you here Torwick?" Jaxon asks as they work their way to the main room, "last I saw you were gambling your way onto a ship heading for Kalimdor. Elves not treat you right?"

The gnome laughed at that. Despite his size he kept pace easily somehow managing to swerve through the crowd easier than his human companions even when most of the crowd failed to notice he existed until he was practically an inch in front of them. You'd think the green hair would make him more noticeable.

"He's my bodyguard." Alissa answered for him.

"We have an evolving contract." The gnome added in with a hint of snark that the Gilnean woman seemed to deliberately ignore.

A warlock with a hired bodyguard? That role was normally filled by enslaved demons as far as he had heard. Jaxon didn't have much experience working with magic users, let alone dark magic users. Sure when he was on campaign there were always mages and priests and the like accompanying them but line troops and those specialist corps always remained relatively separate unless otherwise needed. Yet everyone had heard the rumors about warlocks and the rumors were never very flattering about the craft. Despite what the common folk said about them however the law stated that warlocks were to be tolerated so long as their practice stayed generally out of the public eye and they worked in accordance with Alliance protocol. Jaxon wondered if this 'evolving contract' was more than a simple agreement.

They had to make another stop before they left the garrison. In a room set off from the main lobby was where those visiting had to store any weaponry they were carrying when they arrived. The right to bear arms was something that Stormwind granted it's citizenry, even if those openly carrying blades did get watched by the Guard a little more closely, as the world was a dangerous place but given the nature of the work the Guard did not permit non-personnel to carry weapons within governmental and military structures such as the Garrison and the Palace. Alissa did not carry any weapons, Jaxon didn't think she needed any to be dangerous, but Torwick had to pick up his.

The storage room where guest weapons were kept was informally referred to as 'the stash' and was a simple place with a tall wooden counter separating guests from the man who ran it and where everything was kept. The man who was currently running the stash was an older guardsmen, even older than Jaxon, by the name of Buckly Hayes who had been regulated to administrative work in his younger years due to a bad wound to his leg from an orc axe and has remained for longer than anyone really expected him to. Buckly greeted Jaxon as he entered and upon seeing the gnome follow in behind him reached under the high counter retrieving a small wooden crate littered with a variety of different sized daggers and a finely crafted flintlock pistol. Torwick picked up the gun first, holstering it in a sling under his left arm.

"Do you really need this many blades?" Jaxon asked as he counted the assortment of steel in the box.

Torwick answered the question with a raised eyebrow and a look a if Jaxon had just asked if the sky was actually blue. Picking up each of the daggers he sheathed one on each hip, one in his right boot, one under his left forearm, a longer blade over his right shoulder, and five smaller throwing knives along his chest. As he did this Jaxon and Buckly watched with curiosity while Alissa seemed too preoccupied with her own thoughts to pay the gnome's arming spectacle, or perhaps she was simply used to it. Jaxon felt his two blades were enough for him, they had proven themselves for years of service and the pommels felt as natural extensions of his hands. Once the gnome was armed the trio departed from the garrison Officer Jaxon exchanging salutes with those forces on guard or otherwise milling about the area before turning back to his two companions.

"Main gate," he spoke, "one hour. Then we ride for the Tower of Azora. Hopefully we can make it there before nightfall."

"What will you be doing?" Alissa asked before Jaxon could turn to depart, "are you going to get us more men?"

Jaxon gave a gruff chuckle, "No, it is as I said. But I need to get permission first before I can leave the city."

"Permission?" Torwick asked with surprise, "you have direct orders from a Guard Captain. Who else could you need permission from? The King himself?"

"Even higher than that," Jaxon answered with a smile, "my wife."

* * *

Working as an auctioneer was never an easy job; a constant stream of people vying to get your attention, a never ending cacophony of yelling, performing complex mathematics with each interaction, under permanent scrutiny due to the goods being passed under your eye, it was all quite taxing on the psyche. And being an auctioneer in the largest and most commercially active city in the world? Well... it's not an easy job. Yet Elaine Jaxon was seemingly made for the position handling the countless transactions crossing her board with calm expertise that was honed by decades of experience in the craft. So when Jaxon entered her trade building she spotted him in the crowd almost immediately, able to pick through the throng of faces easily. Grant it the shining glint of the man's armor made him stick out a bit among the browns, greens, reds, and blues worn by most of the people within Stormwind City.

Finishing off the transaction she was currently working with a quick flick of her quill she counted out the gold coins into a small bag and handed the profit from the iron ore's sale to the rather fat bald man standing before her podium. With that finished she flipped the 'open' sign on her station to 'away' and ignored the groans of those who had hoped to push their way into being her next customer. One person the crowd didn't elbow and shove at will to get ahead of was Officer Jaxon, instead they made a hole for him to approach the front the moment they noticed he was there. If the armor wasn't enough to deter them then the ornate golden lion on his tabard certainly did. Elaine simply moved off to the side of the room and awaited him with a smile.

"What brings you here?" Elaine asked as her husband approached and she greeted him with a light hug.

"Work, unfortunately," Jaxon answered before quickly adding, "not with the Auction House."

That took the smile off his wife's face but she listened patiently as Jaxon explained the events of the day, leaving out the more sensitive bits, and that he would need to depart from the city for at least a day if not more to take care of it.

"Hopefully it turns out to be something minor," Jaxon concluded, "but if not then I'll need to see it to conclusion."

"I know hun," Elaine responded taking her husband in another hug - this one more meaningful, "I'm not new to being a Guardsman's wife. You know i'll miss you but I'll also feel safer knowing you're out there taking care of whatever threatens king and country. I'll be sure to tell Xander of your great escapades as always."

Jaxon laughed and returned the hug although keenly trying to make sure he did not jab his wife with his armor. His son, Xander, was always a topic that brought a knot to Jaxon's chest. While he loved his son more than he knew how to properly express with words he was similarly at a loss of words when simply interacting with the boy. Due to the nature of his work and the service history the Guard Officer had incurred Jaxon had not spent much time with his son during the early years of his life and even now the longest span of time he spent as a daily influence with his son was only a little over a year and a half. Although his wife's job had her working strange hours at times, as trade did not stop simply because the sun went down, she was the primary figure in Xander's life and his Officer father was more of a figure in his bedtime stories than his real parent. This was something that ate at Jaxon more and more as the boy aged.

"You're the best," Jaxon said before kissing his wife, giving another hug, and turning to depart. He needed to gather his own supplies within the hour if he really was going to reach the Tower of Azora before night took them. The station attached to the Main Gate would have a mount for him but he would need to have it saddled on top of filling out all the required paperwork. Despite his worries Jaxon did make good time with the work and his companions, Alissa and Torwick, arrived to the gate early with their own mounts stocked and ready to go.

"Ready?" Jaxon asked as he checked his saddlebags one more time before hoisting himself onto his black mare that went by the name 'Socks' due to her white patches near her hooves.

"As I'll ever be," Torwick answered with a smirk, "it's a bit funny to be riding with a Guardsman and not under arrest though."

"Let's keep it that way," Alissa interjected giving the gnome a knowing look before turning her attention to Jaxon, "I apologize for my temperament earlier. I was flustered and my worry over my findings was clouding my judgment."

"It's fine. If you feel bad then you can make it up to me by hunting down the cause of this quickly." Jaxon stated before looking up at the waning sun, "let's ride."

* * *

Author's Notes: Once again I apologize for the incredibility slow update schedule. Too many things simply taking me away from writing for this story although I haven't lost interest in it in the slightest. I have a lot planned here it's just actually writing it out now! Also, some of you might have noticed that some of the characters mentioned in the story are actual NPCs from WoW. Characters like Officer Jaxon, his wife, and son can all be found in Stormwind City. Lilatha and all of the Ranger's from the previous chapters are also actual NPCs that can be found in the Ghostlands. Other characters like Leondris and Emmerich as well as Alissa and Torwick are characters of my own creation.

As always I greatly appreciate any feedback you have to offer.


	5. Chasing Questions

Emmerich stared in disdain at the squalor of humanity before him as he approached the town - if it could even be called that. The signpost he had encountered earlier identified this place as Goldshire and this matched the fragmented stolen memories floating at the edge of his mind. He had seen pict-images of feudal worlds before but he had never anticipated actually being on one. What made it worse is that these people seemed to lack even enough understanding to be properly ashamed of their pathetic state instead smiling at each other as if their lives held any real value. He would teach them the truth of their existence soon enough.

In the tatter of his robes he looked much like a wild man. His staff, an artifact of power forged with blood-gold and empowered with the sacrifice of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine souls, was hidden beneath a layer of rags, dirt, and bramble. The people of Goldshire, peasants all of them, eyed him with a weary expression. Probably suspecting him of stealing something since he wasn't openly begging them for their scraps.

Something within him, that was both him and not him, reeled against the disrespect. He had always held a need for a regal disposition even before other prideful things crawled within his body and mind. Emmerich suppressed the desire to lash out at them for now instead doing his best to remain out of their sight entirely as he worked his way towards the building his stolen memories identified as an inn. It was not these memories that drew him there however, rather he, well not him exactly, smelled something within that peeked his interest. Slithering past the lazy gaze of an armored figure on the street Emmerich slipped into the hazy interior of the structure.

The common room of the inn was cast in a golden hue by the large central fireplace and a layer of wispy smoke danced toward the ceiling from the multitude of pipes being used by the inn's patrons. It smelled of pine and the smoke held a sweet tang to it that wasn't entirely unpleasant. Only a few of the people scattered around the room looked up at the dirty ragged man when he entered and even they quickly turned their attention back to their own deliberations. One of the serving girls gave him a warning look but he ignored her as he followed his nose, not his nose, to find the source of his-their interest.

A woman with pale blond hair and dark brown eyes sat at a table in the corner of the building surrounded by three men that seemed to be vying for her attention. Emmerich could feel the taint within her soul call out to his own but it's unlike what he had encountered before when corrupting his world or in his experiences since. Regardless, it gave him something to work with. Picking up his staff to not risk it's disguise being knocked off by a stray chair Emmerich worked his way back toward the table.

The three men cut their conversation short as Emmerich occupied the last empty chair at their table carefully laying his staff against his shoulder as he eyed the group. Those three returned the look with open anger yet, for her part, the woman didn't so much as bat an eye at the sudden arrival instead only turning to look at him shortly after he had sat down showing clearly it was on her own terms. She's certainly someone who is used to being the center of attention and controlling the flow of a conversation. Such skills are useful but would serve her little now.

"Shove off beggar," one of the men, a burly fellow with a rather poorly trimmed beard, spoke as he raised a clench fist, "you'll find no loose change to pocket here."

Emmerich ignored him entirely focusing his gaze on the girl. When their attentions finally met he allowed the raven to use his eyes, his actual eyes, and he had to suppress a snicker at how quickly the air of control she was exerting melted away.

"What did I just-"

"That's enough Ogas." The woman cut the man off before he could continue. "I want to speak with this man. Leave us."

The three men were openly shocked at the statement but gave little protest to the command before obeying. Surely their relationship with the girl was not just one of a purely flirtatious manner or perhaps she held some sort of reputation that compelled them to listen. Either way it was a good sign that the girl would be useful to him.

"You will answer my questions." Emmerich spoke with a slow drawl as he pulled the language from his stolen memories.

"Of course." The girl answered as she crossed her legs and began straightening the skirts of her dark purple gown.

"Who do you serve?"

The girl hesitated, quickly glancing around the room at the other patrons to make sure none are paying too much attention to their back table or are close enough to overhear.

"I serve the Burning Legion, my lord." The girl answered in a whisper as she placed her right hand on the table rubbing at what appears to be a signet ring. Some form of bat-like creature is depicted on the ring but it meant nothing to him just as the name 'Burning Legion' meant nothing to him. Chaos and its multitudes of servants are known by countless names across the cosmos. This close he could taste the corruption twisting her soul; it's different than what he considered normal, as normal as the touch of Chaos can ever be considered, but was recognizable. If this girl is an indicator of what this Legion's servants are like then integrating himself into their hierarchy could prove useful.

It's possible the masters of this organization would take offense at him using their servants but worst case he could more than prove himself useful to them to assure his survival. Best case... he could usurp them just as he did that foolish cult leader on Valdus-Prime.

* * *

Jaxon brought his steed to a stop in a clamor of hooves as he and the two others behind him kicked up a large dust cloud. The horses are breathing heavy which came at no surprise considering the only real rest they gave them was a quick stop at Goldshire. It wasn't a short distance getting from one end of Elwynn Forest to the other and even pushing their mounts like they did the Tower of Azora only came into view as the last remnants of light painted a golden crown on the treeline above. With any luck the mage of this tower knew something the ones in Stormwind did not and their mounts efforts are not in vein.

As they approached a blue robed figure stepped out from the tower's main entryway flanked by a group of four gnomes. The robed figure, tall with a head of white hair accompanied by a neatly squared white beard, was someone Jaxon recognized immediately.

"Theocritus!" The Guard Officer yelled in greeting as he dismounted.

"Jaxon lad!" Theocritus shouted back as he closed the distance to clasp the man's hand. "I haven't seen you since that Orc business in Redridge. I must say though I was expecting Marshal McBride not an officer of the Stormwind Guard."

Jaxon arched an eyebrow at that.

"What do you mean?"

Theocritus returned the gesture pushing up the silver circlet on his head. "I think it would be best for us to continue this conversation inside then. My servants will take your mounts to the stable."

With a gesture of his hand the four gnomes approached and took the reins from the small party. Theocritus eyed the officer's two companions curiously before turning to lead them inside. Alissa and Torwick held their own puzzled expressions but followed without a word. Torwick disliked riding on living mounts, they simply aren't sized properly for gnomes, and Alissa just didn't like riding in general. This of course had nothing to do with the fact that in her bestial form she could keep up with most horses rather she just didn't like the way any extended length of riding made your body sore.

The inside of the Tower of Azora is like any other place of magical study and application. More people populated the tower than had previously when Jaxon last visited. He had heard rumors that old Theocritus was actually taking students these days since his enemy Morganth was finally put down. Still, it surprised him that those rumors turned out to be true. While lessons in enchanting were often held at the tower Theocritus always despised politics and taking in actual magical students no doubt brought him some trouble. The High Mage of Tower Azora led them up multiple flights of stairs until ultimately they arrived at his private sanctum.

"Please take a seat," Theocritus spoke as he gestured to a small nearby table that seemed to be the only one not occupied by books and scrolls, "I'll have some tea brought up to us."

The servants of the tower seem to have predicted their master's request however arriving only shortly after he spoke with a tray of cups and a kettle. At the center of the room sat the glowing blue-pink artifact Jaxon knew as the Eye of Azora. His companions seem to have noticed it as well although while Alissa seemed to be studying it Torwick looked more like he was trying to figure out some way to steal it. Jaxon noted again that he was not accompanied by fellow guardsmen.

"As I had stated outside," Theocritus began, "I was expecting Marshal McBride to come investigate the matter of the children not someone from the capital."

"What children?" Jaxon asks as he accepts a cup of tea and places it before him, "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

The High Mage rested back into his chair at the response seemingly considering the situation. After a moment he began.

"Earlier today, around dawn, I sensed a... pulse of sorts. It was enough to knock our scrying arrays out of alignment. Naturally the Eye remained unaffected so I used it to search Elwynn for the cause. It wasn't until around midday that I discovered a trail of destruction that led to, well, for lack of a better way to describe it two human husks. Shortly after that one of my servants received word that two families reported missing children which explains the sizes of the husks I saw. I sent word to the Marshal about it which I assumed was the riders approaching the tower but instead you're here; not about the children?"

"That might not be the case," Alissa answered drawing the attention of the old mage, "I detected a disturbance this morning as well but my wards were designed only to detect Fel presence. The hit didn't match up exactly but that's why we're here - to investigate it. I fear these missing... rather, dead, children might not be unconnected to that."

Theocritus rubbed at his beard as he listened to the Gilnean woman. Giving her a nod before turning his gaze back to Jaxon.

"I assume you've been assigned to aid..." Theocritus lifted a hand towards the girl expectantly.

"Alissa Stonewall."

"To aid Mrs. Stonewall in her investigation?"

"Other way around actually." Torwick cut in offering a smirk at the chastising look Alissa shot him.

"A demon would have to be of some power to affect the tower the way it did with it's arrival. The condition of the children's bodies is also rather abnormal. I was planning on venturing to the actual site of it once the Marshal arrived although at this hour it looks like that will not be today. Tomorrow I will guide you to what I found as this goes beyond McBride's usual dealings. Until then you are my guests and my servants will see that you are taken care of."

The day had certainly been a busy one and each of them were more than ready for a nights rest. That said, while Jaxon and Torwick tucked away rather quickly Alissa instead spent a good hour more discussing the topic with Theocritus. The discussion led to no revelations regarding the threat rather only reinforcing the strangeness of the event. With more questions than answers they too eventually retired for the night.

When the sun once again crept up over the tall trees of Elwynn the small investigative party had already been up and getting ready. A quick breakfast of biscuits and poached eggs and they were mounted up riding southwest from the Tower of Azora. Jaxon, Alissa, and Torwick each rode their original steeds which had been refreshed throughout the night not only by rest but also magical means. Theocritus was accompanied by one of his students, who was introduced as Johnson Applebrow - a native to Elwynn, and each rode their own mares which while not as imposing as the Stormwind bred warhorses are of fine stock. According to Theocritus the location he had found with the Eye was roughly an hour ride away which proved to be a very accurate prediction.

The trail of destruction across the tree line was easily spotted and followed through the underbrush. Jaxon wondered just what could have brought two children this far out from their homes. A large crater had been formed in the ground much to the surprise of the group as they pulled up beside it and dismounted.

"The only demon I've known to arrive with this type of impact are Infernals." Jaxon stated as he approached the edge.

"Normally yes." Alissa responded with a clear expression of curiosity.

"Last I saw one they're also always on fire," Theocritus added, "and the forest around here doesn't display any other damage beyond this impact and its corresponding trail." He finished the statement with a gesture toward the surrounding environment.

"That's also generally true. While it is possible to suppress the felfire Infernals by their purpose are large and I don't see any tracks indicating that."

"I found the kids," Torwick spoke up from within the crater startling the group who hadn't noticed him scurry down the slope. The gnome brushed away a layer of soil at its center revealing the two husks that had been covered by windswept soil over the night. Unfortunately the movement caused the thin layer of purple-black skin left on their remains to flake and tear off revealing yellowed crumbling bones.

"Oh" was the rogue's reaction.

"Please don't just go jumping into holes without telling people," Jaxon said to the gnome as he slid down the crater himself, "although you're right."

After a moment of inspection as the gnome continued to reveal the second corpse Officer Jaxon spat to his side before wiping his mouth with a small cloth from his belt. "There's no way we're going to get a positive identity from these. It's like a year of decay in a day. They have no eyes, no hair, nothing to discern them from any other child."

He paused for a moment.

"I don't know what I'm going to tell the parents."

"Light have mercy on their souls." Johnson muttered before giving a quick prayer at the edge of the crater.

"The best we can do for them now is to find the thing that did this." Alissa stated from above beyond the sight of where Jaxon stood. She had knelt down, careful in gathering her skirts to not dirty them, to examine a print in the ground. "I may not be a tracker but this is too large to be from a child."

"I'm not going to just leave their bodies here!" Jaxon retorted as he backed away from the children's remains.

"I didn't say we should," the Gilnean woman said back with a calming tone to show she meant no offense, "just that we should stay focused on our task. Torwick could you come take a look at these and see if you can discern anything I can't?"

The gnome climbed out of the crater to oblige while Jaxon spoke with Theocritus to arrange the return of the children's remains to their families. Such was the purpose of bringing Johnson along. When the Marshal arrived at the tower today his servants would direct him to this site where Johnson would await him and explain to McBride what we knew of the situation. This would allow their party to continue to pursue whatever caused this in hopes of a quick resolution.

When that was taken care of they moved to join Torwick who was now squatting near some brush along the edge of the impact site.

"You know how to track, gnome?" Theocritus asks as they approach.

"I didn't spend long with the Kaldorei but I was sure to pick up what I could. Can't say I'm an expert or anything but this," Torwick points to the footprint found by Allisa, "belongs to an adult human male. And this mess of a bush here was tore up rather roughly although for what purpose I don't know. It also looks like he headed off in this direction and given where we are I'd say he's heading towards Goldshire. Beyond that I don't see anything else here."

"More than I could get from this." The old mage responded giving Torwick a light pat on the shoulder.

"Jaxon," Theocritus continued, "this is still you're investigation although I'd like to continue accompanying you if I may. What should we do next?"

"You're more than welcome with us Theocritus." Jaxon answered and gestured the group back towards their horses, "and we ride for Goldshire. See if we can pick up any leads. Got anything for us to work with Alissa?"

"Unfortunately no," the warlock responds with a puzzled expression, "more questions now than before and I already had plenty. I don't see any signs that would be common to demon activity. The only tracks we have found are human or at least appear human. It's possible this man is a warlock and summoned something only to dismiss it but for what purpose? To murder two children? No, that's silly to think and whatever he summoned would have to be powerful enough to trip my wards all the way in Stormwind. I think that only leaves us one option... a Dreadlord."

* * *

When the trail led to the King's Road the group set themselves into a gallop towards Goldshire. It was not long, only an hour or so more by horse, before they arrived in the central town of Elwynn. The streets and plaza of the town are buzzing with people the noise of overlapping conversations and merchants selling their goods from a plethora of parked wagons joining together to form a cacophony that reminded Jaxon much of Stormwind. The arrival of a man wearing armor with the tabard of the Stormwind Guard didn't go unnoticed and they were quickly approached by two members of the local guard who offered salutes after noticing the rank chevrons on Jaxon's uniform.

Returning the gesture Jaxon questioned the guards regarding any suspicious arrivals to the town within the last day. Unfortunately they had no reports of such. At Jaxon's request the group stabled their mounts with the guard posting and gathered themselves to the side.

"We have to find something here or else the trail goes cold and we lose him."

"An inn is where i'd start," Torwick stated plainly, "almost everyone passes through the inn. Plus if this is a Dreadlord then he would need a place to sleep since it's not like he owns a house or anything."

"Do Dreadlords even sleep?"

They all turned to Alissa expectantly.

"I don't know," she answered in an exasperated tone, "I've never even seen one in real life how would I know what their sleeping habits are like. And keep it down saying that word, if it gets out that we are looking for one it could alert him and make this a lot more difficult for us."

"She's right," Jaxon said, "it could even cause a panic. Paranoia that the man next to you might secretly be a demon could easily result in the loss of innocent life. We have to keep our hunt a secret. For now let's see if we can find any sightings of a strange man or someone who showed up to the town alone and no one has really seen before. These demons are masters of deception so it won't be easy but it's the best we have for now. Alissa and Theocritus try and see if you can pick up on any arcane or fel activity. Torwick and I will try the inns and see if we can find anything."

"And if we do find something?"

"Try and find us," Jaxon answered with a shrug, "we'll meet back at the mounts in an hour if no one finds anything."

The two pairs set off into the bustle of the crowd. Torwick kept close to Jaxon's side as they moved, the crowd parting for the guardsmen easily as none of them wanted to be the one that got too close and incurred his scrutiny, allowing the gnome to keep pace easily. Gnomes weren't exactly a common sight in Goldshire causing Jaxon to worry that Torwick could attract unwanted attention but for a reason not exactly known to him the crowd barely seemed to notice someone was there at all. The guard are trained to notice people blending into a crowd but not an understanding of how exactly they did it.

"Which inn should we start with?" The rogue asked, his voice barely audible above the roar of the crowd, "I'd recommend starting with the bigger ones and working our way down."

"Just what I was thinking." Jaxon agreed, "We'll have a better approach on people if we go about it separately. Those who clam up for a guard might say something to you."

"Am I working with the king's authority?"

"For now," Jaxon answered with a warning look, "just don't abuse it."

The gnome laughed and this time he actually did draw some attention from the people moving around them. They seemed surprised he was there, as if he suddenly appeared from thin air. Jaxon wondered if he could learn to mask his presence like that before the rattle of his chainmail reminded him of the uniform he wore. Gripping the hilt of the longsword at his side with one hand and running his other hand through his beard the old man considered the possibilities for a guard unit trained in stealth. He concluded that concept is effectively what SI:7 is.

"I'll take this one," Jaxon stated with a gesture towards a larger three story building at the corner of the coming street, "good luck."

"Be careful, Officer." Came Torwick's response before he slipped back into the shuffling parade of the street.

The inn held little in the way of a lead. With a sigh Jaxon left the building and proceeded through the crowd to the next inn just down the street. He wasn't sure off the top of his head how many of such establishments existed within Goldshire but the idea of crawling his way through all of them suddenly reminded him of just how old he was becoming. A good half hour passed this way with no luck in finding any information regarding suspicious activity or of a stranger arriving late at night. Returning the salute of a passing town guard Jaxon eyed the entrance of the next inn before marking the position of the sun and stepping in.

With an inaudible sigh Jaxon stepped through the entryway with purpose. Setting his jaw and straightening his back to give off that aura of control that intimidated and infuriated so many people. When he entered the common room a head from every table looked up at him before quickly turning their gazes away. Some of them motioned or whispered to their tablemates in an obvious effort to alert them to his presence. If he was just on patrol he'd make note of those individuals but now he ignored them making his way to the bar to speak with the large man clearly identifiable as the innkeeper.

"What'll ya have, guardsmen?" the burly fellow asked as Jaxon leaned against the wooden chest high barrier.

"Officer," Jaxon corrected, "and information."

The innkeeper stiffened behind the counter putting down the small mug he had been carrying and mumbling, "Ah Officer, right, what would ya like to know?"

"Have you had any suspicious looking patrons pass through here yesterday or today?"

The innkeeper looked around the room before answering, "what do you mean by suspicious? I don't often refuse anyone that has the coin for drink so most of my patrons look a bit scruffy."

"A man who probably came in alone, maybe looked like he was running around in the forest all day."

The plump fellow thought for a moment. "I don't remember anyone of the sort. Don't pay much mind to those who don't come to the bar though. Perhaps one of my girls saw something."

The innkeeper raised a hand and called out to one of the nearby serving girls. A short woman that appeared to be in her early twenties with dark hair and green eyes. Light freckles can be seen sprinkling her cheeks at a closer distance and although her face could be considered a bit round she was undeniably pretty. He wondered if the girl was the innkeeper's daughter, he could see some resemblance if he looked hard enough. Something also told him it wasn't the mutton that allowed this place to be as successful as it is.

Describing what he was looking for again to the girl Jaxon slid an eye around the room and made note of those who seemed more interested in what was happening at the bar than at their own tables.

"Oh, there was someone like that," the serving girl answered after a moment of thought, "this creepy beggar came in last evening. He was carrying this staff covered in mud and leaves. Really weird, I gave him a look but he ignored me and went to join some folks at a table. Didn't bother anyone though."

A beggar? Why would a Dreadlord chose a form that would attract attention like a beggar? It was a lead at least. If this is who they're looking for though the fact that he meet with people is worrying. If there is some sort of Legion cult that the Dreadlord met up with then their lack of troops was certainly going to be felt. Jaxon wouldn't feel comfortable having to deal with a Dreadlord even if he did have a full brigade at his back but duty often calls on you to do things you're not exactly equipped for. Certainly thankful the High Mage decided to get involved as he had hoped he would when they set out for the tower.

"Do you know who it was he met with?" Jaxon asked resting his hand on the hilt of his longsword again.

At the question the serving girl turned and scanned the room before settling on a larger man near the far right corner of the room. "There," the serving girl stated as she pointed at him, "the beggar went over to Ogas' table to talk with some woman he was cooing over."

Unfortunately the man, Ogas, saw the girl point him out. He bolted for the door knocking another patron from his chair in his rush. Jaxon was quick to respond but not quick enough to catch him before he disappeared behind the turn marking the entrance to the common room. With a yell the guard officer unsheathed his longsword gripping it at the base of the blade to allow for more control in the tight space if this man intended to fight in the hallway. A yelp of pain was all that greeted him as he turned the corner though to find Ogas crumpled on the ground holding his knee with Torwick standing over him.

The gnome looked up still clutching an iron-topped cudgel in his hand, "Jaxon?" he asked with a look of surprise.

Jaxon moved to the rogue quickly planting a heavy boot on the chest of the downed man before placing the tip of his blade against his throat.

"Good job, Torwick," Jaxon said, "Did you recognize my voice to know I was after him?"

"Not at all," the gnome answered, "had no idea. The guy just tried to run me over so I busted him in the knee before I got trampled."

"Fortunate then." The guard officer turned his attention to Ogas, "now for you. Yesterday a man, a beggar, came to your table. Tell me about him. Tell me why you ran."

"I don't-" Ogas' answer was cut short as the edge of the longsword began to press further against his neck. "Alright, alright. I don't know much about him the guy just showed up and wanted to talk to Jesse. I was gonna slug 'em but she stopped me and told everyone to go away. Don't know why."

"Who's Jesse? Speak!"

"Ah fuck. Fuck! Calm down man. She's this rich girl that comes to Goldshire every once in a while. Throws good parties and is real generous with gold. Has a cottage out near the lake northeast from here. That's all I know man, let me go."

"I think he's telling the truth," Torwick stated tucking his cudgel back into one of the frogs on his belt.

"Not getting away though. Might prove to have more connection than just that. We'll take him to the local guards; they can keep him until we figure things out. Let's go, on your feet."

* * *

After scanning through Goldshire for an hour Alissa and Theocritus had gained a total sum of zero new information about their target. Goldshire was as magically mundane as any rock you could find on the side of a road. It was with tired eyes that they returned to the guard posting where they had left their horses hoping their companions had fared better than they did. Being waved in by Jaxon the group cloistered further back from the street to discuss their findings.

"Anything?" Torwick asks as the two magic users approach.

"Nothing," Alissa answers, "not a trace of magic has been used here recently as far as we can tell. Dreadlords are known for their ability to hide themselves though. It's entirely possible our passive sight isn't enough to see through its disguise even if we are standing right next to it. Any luck on your end?"

"Got a lead about a beggar carrying a staff of bramble leaving with a girl named Jesse last night. She has a cottage northeast of here. Figure that's where we'll head next."

"Sounds like a plan." Theocritus agreed rubbing at his hands for a moment before moving with the group to retrieve their mounts. Jaxon empathized with him; Theocritus is even older than him, by a good margin at that. As far as the guardsmen could tell though arcane power didn't wane as one aged the way muscles did. Still, Jaxon helped his older friend into the saddle before going to retrieve his own mount.

Socks, his barded warhorse, had been expertly trained by the Guard to not only carry guardsmen but assist them in their endeavors. Simple commands could rely complex instructions to the horse and it would obey without question. One trick that had always impressed him and he had utilized much in his earlier years as an investigator was the horse's ability to actually stand watch and alert him of anyone approaching. This was alongside their fearless nature allowing the rider to maintain control even in the midst of battle.

With their group saddled up they maneuvered into the crowded press of the street and began making their way towards the northern exit of the city. Information Jaxon had gathered from the local guard stated the quickest way to reach the cottage this Jesse resides at was a trail just off the main road leading up towards Northshire Abbey. With a glance up towards the sun they noted that it was now reaching past midday. If the luck of the Light was with them this suspect beggar, whether Dreadlord or other being evil, was the one they're looking for and was still at this cottage. If not, Jesse will have some questions to answer regardless.

Passing through the gate in a canter they swerved and entered into the twisting landscape of Elwynn once again. Jaxon had brought the two magic users fully up to speed with what they had learned from Ogas. They had agreed it was a lead worth following, surely a bit biased by the fact it was the only lead they had managed to find, but none of them wanted to risk whatever killed those children getting away. The officer felt the presence of his weapons in their sheaths as more than just physical weight. They are going in weapons drawn; no risks can be afforded to being courteous with such a creature in question.

"I'll lead the questioning." Jaxon commanded over the sound of hoof beat, "but you have permission to engage at suspicion. Don't risk your lives."

His three companions each gave a noise of understanding. The ride out to the cottage was not a long one but they soon found their way blocked by an iron gate connecting a large wooden fence sectioning off the land that belongs to the estate. The group drew up in front of it with caution each of them checking the treeline and the lands beyond the barrier for any signs of trouble. The cottage can be seen from where they are but that also means anyone in the building can see them as well.

"Should I pick the lock?" Torwick asks.

"No time." Jaxon answers before tapping Sock's neck, giving a short whistle, and nudging the mount with his knees just-so. The warhorse understood the command raising up and smashing into the iron with a powerful forward jab of her hooves. A loud crack announced the breaking of the lock and the group barreled through the gate only a hairsbreadth later. The small estate held two other buildings that they could see beyond the main cottage, which was of impressively large design. A place like this surely had servants of some sort but no movement was seen as they moved up and dismounted before the central building. Jaxon signed the signal to Socks to remain on watch in case they got flanked.

"Eyes up," Jaxon warned drawing his two blades and approaching the double-door that acts as the main entrance to the cottage. They followed him closely, Torwick holding his flintlock pistol in one hand with a long dagger in the other, Alissa holding a wicked looking dagger of her own, while Theocritus kept his hands free. Moving up against the wooden door Jaxon jiggled the doorknob uselessly, "locked."

"Pick this one?" Torwick whispered the question.

The guard officer nodded and the gnome moved up having to reach above his shoulders to access the lock with the set of tools that seemed to manifest in his hands. It wasn't long before the lock was undone, only about ten seconds or so, but that time was spent in tense paranoia for the rest of the group. With a soft click the door swung open and Torwick stepped inside. Jaxon thought to say something but decided the gnome was more than qualified to lead the way.

Inside the cottage had a homely feel to it. Well-furnished and cared for the main entryway led out into a large living room type area with a stone fireplace at the center of the far wall. A bearskin rug rested before it and Jaxon noted the soot marks on the edges of the stone. Given how clean everything else is he wagered it recently held a fire. Torwick disappeared into the house while the other three fanned out in the central room. Jaxon holding his longsword in his right hand with his parrying dagger in the left he was all too aware of the noises his armor, specifically his chainmail, made with each movement in the eerie silence that had settled inside the cottage.

"Over here," Alissa motioned to the two men to join her by the bear rug pointing to small patched of dried blood that soiled its fur, "these don't look old to me. I think we..."

She paused turning her head and sniffing the air.

"Alissa?" Theocritus asked, "What is it?"

"I sense the Fel," the Gilnean woman answered, "it's coming from below us. There must be a basement."

"Correct," Torwick drifted lightly across the room to join them. "Found the stairs. Interestingly there's a trail of blood leading down it."

"Surely they've heard us by now." Jaxon stated turning toward where the rogue indicated the entrance to the basement is located.

As if to prove him wrong a long moan drifted up through the floorboards. It shocked the group but it was just a noise nothing more. Sounding more like a woman in the throes of ecstasy than any sort of pain their collective shock quickly turned into collective confusion. Deciding to figure out what it was that caused that sound for themselves the group followed Torwick down the hallway to the stairwell leading into the twisting stone underbelly of the structure. The gnome stopped the group with a raised fist then silently stepped down into the stairwell leaving the three of them to stare at the trail of blood leading down it and wonder what awaited them below.

A few tense moments passed before the gnome appeared again and worked his way slowly, oh so slowly, back up to them.

"Nine people down there," Torwick spoke in a whisper, "big room full of freaky stuff. Looks more like a dungeon. Most are in casual clothes but two are wearing robes. They seem to be gathered around something going on in a back section of the room but I couldn't see it from here. Everyone looks armed to some degree."

"Could we approach unseen?" Jaxon asked clutching the hilts of his blades tighter.

"Unlikely," the rogue answered, "one of the bigger guys down there seems to be caught between watching whatever's going on and watching the stairs. Almost saw me."

"Shock and awe then." Jaxon stated looking to Theocritus who nodded in turn. The old man cracked his knuckles and the group began the descent into the basement.

As the group reached the bottom of the stairs the large man Torwick had warned them of looked back in their direction jerking up in surprise just in time for the gnomish rogue's thrown dagger to dig into his thick neck. The move silenced any cry of alarm the man could give but the fountain of blood that shot out across those around him warned them enough of the intruders.

"In the name of the King you are all under arrest! Stand down!" Jaxon commanded even as he rushed across the room blades placed out to strike.

The room erupted into a flurry of movement. Just as Torwick had warned the group was armed. They brought wicked implements of torture to bare more than proper weaponry but Jaxon had no doubt they could kill someone if you let them. Even as the guardsmen charged Theocritus spoke words of eldritch power the blue arcane sigils that had flared up around his hands as he pointed at one of the men exploding into a torrent of purple missiles that battered him into a bloody mess. One of the cloaked figures twirled and stepped out into proper view of the intruders raising a hand to launch a bolt of malefic shadow targeting Jaxon.

Having been caught mid-charge Jaxon could only clench his teeth in time as a grinning skull of shadow blasted him in the chest sending him staggering back against the right wall. Seeing the opportunity three of the cultists, surely they are, lurched forward to attack the guardsmen with an assortment of sickles, cleavers, and hooks only to have one of their number get launched back as his chest exploded in a torrent of gore. Everyone's ears rang from the discharged noise of the pistol echoing off the walls of such an enclosed space; Torwick being the only one expecting the noise he took advantage of the brief state of surprise that gripped the room to move from the spot he shot from vanishing behind a large wooden table.

Jaxon recovered in time to meet the two foes left for him in a clang of parrying steel that his ears barely registered over their ringing. He worried for a moment that he would receive another blast from the cloaked figure but the enemy spellcaster seemed to be preoccupied in some sort of arcane duel with Alissa who stood near the stairwell chanting words Jaxon's mind couldn't seem to understand. Deflecting a crude hook with his heavy dagger Jaxon allowed the sickle of another foe to spark uselessly against his pauldron as he brought his knee up into the hook-bearing man's crotch. The man's cry of shock and pain was cut short as the guardsmen twisted his longsword around in a flourish that cut deep up into his jaw sending him spluttering to the floor while his tongue flew in the other direction to splatter against the wall.

Now able to focus on his last opponent, who suddenly lost the momentum that carried him over to the guardsmen, Jaxon expertly pressed up under the attempted guard of the cultist stabbing him three times in the stomach with his dagger. The stabs were deliberate, the wounds would kill the man but it would be a long and painful process. Plenty of time to potentially interrogate him if no other candidate suited the matter. With a quick jab to the face with the flat side hilt of his longsword he let the cultist drop to the floor and quickly reassessed the situation unfolding around him.

One of the cultists seemed to try and chase after Torwick only to have the gnome kick a wooden chair into his side to then use that same chair as an anchor for a jump that allowed him to plant his dagger deep into the cultist's eye. The man screamed for a moment as if his vocal cords didn't quite register their owner was already dead. Theocritus watched with a scowl as a cultist wielding a long dagger in each hand charged at him screaming profanities before being consumed in flame by one of the High Mage's combustion spells. He fell to the ground screaming long before ever getting near the blue robed old man.

Alissa seemed to have won whatever battle raged between her and the robed man as he suddenly fell to the ground soundlessly clutching at his face. The Gilnean woman smiled and with that all of the enemies in the room were dealt with but by his count... where did the second cloaked figure go? They must have vanished back behind the far wall that blocked sight of whatever it was these cultists were fixated on. Jaxon wasted no time running over and hurdling the dead cultists to get a look behind the wall, guard raised. What he saw on the other side was not something he could have ever expected though.

The other cloaked figure counted by Torwick was not there but how they escaped was obvious enough. The shimmering green oval of a portal winked out just as the guardsmen turned the corner. That was not what caused him to stop in shock though.

"Light preserve me..."

A woman was laid across a table, if you could even call it a woman anymore, nude and twisted into something the guardsmen could only think to describe as an horrific abomination. Large pink worm-like tentacles had grown from her body twisting around the table and back into her. Her ribcage was torn open with the bones pulled up and out of the skin to allow for onlookers to see the gore inside. Jaxon could see clearly that she had no heart yet the woman... thing, was very much still alive. The tentacles pulsed every few seconds writhing inside her and the woman squealed in both pleasure and unthinkable pain. Her eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling, yet as Jaxon stood there stunned by what he saw they twitched then shot over to look at him.

His three companions joined him just as the creature on the table opened its mouth and let out a twisted laugh. Then it spoke, not the girl but something inside her.

"What interesting things await us..." the thing said in a voice much like how he imagined a snake would sound.

"What twisted..." was all Theocritus managed to utter before turning away and emptying the contents of his stomach against the wall.

The thing laughed again.

"I look forward to seeing you soon." It seemed to whisper into their minds more than speak from the lips of the girl.

With a scream that caused all four of them to flinch back the woman-thing convulsed violently. Shaking with unnatural movement the tentacles squeezed splintering the table they wrapped around, tearing the girl's skin apart, before suddenly exploding in a shower of blood that caked everything around it. Luckily none of them had been standing close enough to the thing as the blood that now stained everything in the alcove steamed as if it had been boiling inside her body. Jaxon felt like throwing up but couldn't seem to move his body at all. When he managed to look down he saw his hands shaking terribly.

Alissa was the one who recovered first.

"I've never seen anything like that," she stated as plainly as she could manage but still needed to swallow spit before continuing, "but there are definitely traces of a translocation spell here."

Jaxon couldn't take more of it and moved away back into the dungeon that was the rest of the basement. How could such a thing exist? How could someone allow that to happen? These people, these people who he yesterday would have considered a compatriot without a second thought! By the Light...

"Jaxon." Alissa spoke and placed a hand on his arm. "Jaxon you have to listen."

He turned his head to look at her and she could see the terror still gripping him in his eyes.

"I can figure out where they traveled to but I have to study it. I don't need you here for that. Go upstairs, wait for me to finish."

All he could manage to do was swallow and nod his head. His body felt stiff as he moved towards the staircase and up it back into the cottage proper. Torwick followed him obviously disturbed by it as well. What in the world are they dealing with? He's fought the Legion before. Hell he's fought the Scourge before. Yet something about what he saw down there was just so... wrong. As if it wasn't just the physical thing that disturbed him but something about it twisted his soul to look at. He wanted to throw up yet again could not bring himself to. He leaned against the wall and remained that way for several minutes.

It was the whinny of Socks that knocked Jaxon from his stupor. Still clutching his weapons and all too aware of the blood staining his tabard from the fighting below he moved to the front entrance of the cottage looking out for who his mounted warned him was approaching. To his surprise however it was not enemies that were drawing up in the central yard of the estate, rather a guardsmen from Goldshire, a man Jaxon recognized as Trenton. His horse seemed to be foaming from the mouth at how hard it was being pushed to get here.

"What are you doing here?" Jaxon questioned as he stepped out from the building.

The young guardsmen looked at the officer in surprise for a moment, his eyes lingering on the patch of blood across his midsection, before answering.

"I know you said you didn't require help sir. And that's not why I'm here but, uh, I have urgent news I thought you would want to know."

"Spit it out then lad."

The sense of urgency he had been carrying suddenly returned to him. "We're under attack!"

"What!?"

"It's the Legion!" Trenton shouted, "Stormwind is under attack! Elwynn seems to be being ignored but Westfall has gotten hit hard. Sentinel Hill burns!"

* * *

 _Authors Note: Real sorry it took me so long to get this one out to you guys. Excuses, excuses. Haven't abandoned this though! The next chapter should come out a LOT sooner and we'll actually be returning to Leondris! Sorry to those who came here wanting Eldar action and don't want to read about Jaxon and his crew but it's important for the larger narrative of the story and I hope you can enjoy it as well._

 _As always feedback is greatly appreciated!_


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